


Forgotten, but not gone

by jelenaRusso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Chosen One Hermione Granger, Death Eater Sirius Black, F/M, Gen, Girl Who Lived Hermione Granger, Hermione grows up in an orphanage, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Muggle born prejudice, Mystery, Orphan Hermione Granger, Orphanage, Parselmouth Hermione Granger, Poverty, Slurs, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Slytherin Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelenaRusso/pseuds/jelenaRusso
Summary: AU. The Wizarding World might have forgotten their mudblood Girl Who Lived and left her in an orphanage for 10 years without any knowledge of magic, but Hermione is determined to succeed, to show them what she is capable of. Of course, being sorted into Slytherin doesn't help matters much.(GWL, Chosen one!Hermione Granger)
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger & Original Character(s), Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley
Comments: 33
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

Her world was falling, falling, everything was going dark, something cold was pressing at her forehead, then a contrasting white hot burst of pain, a high cold laugh.

Green light flashed. Someone screamed.

Halloween, 1981 and Hermione Jean Granger's world as she knew it ended.

* * *

'You're looking for who?'

Ms. Rehana of the orphanage was a tall, thin woman, with lank black hair and small brown eyes. She squinted suspiciously at the stranger gracing her doorstep, a middle aged woman wearing a tight bun and clothes that had gone out of fashion twenty years ago.

'A Hermione Granger. I am Professor McGonagall and I have come to offer Ms. Granger a place at my school.' The stranger said, in a slightly exasperated tone, like she'd done this job far more often than she liked.

'I'm sorry, but this is an orphanage. We don't have the funds to send the kids to fancy schools.'

'It is for free. Her name has been entered there by birth and she is entitled for a scholarship. Also, it is a boarding school, _which you do not have to pay for._ '

Ms. Rehana squinted again. She sighed and then invited the McGonagall lady to her office. The Granger girl was called for and she bustled in, bushy hair flying. The girl was clever sure, but what she'd done to get a place at some boarding school for free, Rehana had no idea.

'Well, Hermione, you can have a talk with the Professor and ask her a few questions, I believe about this new boarding school of yours.' Ms. Rehana said. She nodded at the McAlister lady or whatever her name was and then left them alone.

* * *

It had been two days since Professor McGonagall had given her her Hogwarts letter and Hermione was _thrilled._ A magic school and she was a witch, how did they expect her to wait for another week?

Thinking on that helped Hermione to not dwell much on the rather dark side of what Professor McGonagall had said. A Dark Lord and why she had that lightning bolt scar on her forehead and who her parents were. Of course, Hermione had immediately asked the next question that popped in her head:

Why couldn't she have gone to live with her relatives? Surely, she'd have had some sort of relatives. Did they not want her? Had they known she was a witch and didn't want her?

Professor McGonagall had simply said that her only known relatives (Father's cousin) lived in the US, and being the Girl Who Lived, she had to stay in Britain.

Jean and Will Granger. She hadn't known their names before. And she hadn't known that they'd been dentists. Weird. She had barely been to the dentist thrice.

She said it out loud sometimes, Jean, Will and Hermione Granger. It sounded nice. It sounded like safety. It sounded like family, goddamn it.

Hermione wanted this new world but she was afraid she would forget that the loss of her parents was because of this world. People like her, McGonagall had said, were called Muggle borns. And she might as well be the most famous Muggle born out there.

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. Hunger was gnawing at her stomach and the dorms were deathly quiet. She had snuck food before, but Luke had always been there with her. And they hadn't talked for weeks since _that_ incident. Now if she went to the kitchens, he'd rat on her, Hermione was sure. Her stomach made its thoughts clear, giving a rumble. Hermione sighed, pulling her legs to the side of the bunk. She was on the top bed, with Selene on the lower bunk, but thankfully the girl was a heavy sleeper. Hermione tip toed onto the corner of the bunk, carefully avoiding Selene's sleeping body and landed on the floor, as quiet as she could manage.

The kitchen was across the dining hall, and the door was never locked. It was one of the things Hermione loved Ms. Rehana for. She walked to the kitchen on tip toe, careful not to make a sound.

Luke was there.

She'd have known that silhouette anywhere. Hermione walked on, slightly tapping him on the shoulder. He didn't so much as flinch before turning.

'Hermione Jean Granger, the Girl Who Lived! Royalty, eh?' he whispered bitterly.

'How did you know that?'

'Darling, who taught you to eavesdrop?'

'You were eavesdropping on me? How dare you; that was such an indecent thing to do-'

'Spare me the lecture, Hermione. I thought we were supposed to be friends? Best friends even?' Luke asked, his voice slightly straining at the end.

'And it has been two days since that lady told you about all this. In barely two months, you'll be gone, without even telling me the truth.'

'Luke-' Hermione started, but Luke wasn't listening.

'It's fine, Hermione. You won't even be here from next year, so what does it matter about me? After all, you're some Dark wizard vanisher, aren't you? You're probably famous as hell there, so have fun. And don't go trying to snuck food there, I doubt they'd appreciate thieving.'

'Luke, you have to understand, I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it,'

'I've told you Hermione, its completely fine. I understand. And the soup's terrible cold, I doubt you're going to want any.'

He was lying. He didn't understand and Hermione knew in that moment, that if she was ever friends with him after this, it would never be the same.

* * *

He found her practising her magic, the other day. Her jeans had ripped at the knee, and she was stitching it back. When she called out his name he didn't respond.

Hermione sighed. Luke was probably the only friend she had and without him, everything was just, so lonely. She kneeled on the dry grass, spotting a snake slithering along. Its forked tongue slipped out and it hissed. Except she could understand it.

 _I'm Hermione,_ she said.

_You speak my language. You are gifted, girl._

_Why, thank you,_ said Hermione. There was a sudden snap and she turned to see Luke staring at her, looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

'And your lot can speak with snakes as well. Charming.'

'Luke, please-'

He left and so did the snake. Hermione had never felt so lonely.

* * *

September first dawned bright, and excitement coursed through Hermione as Mr. Lucas gave her a ride in his battered Ford to Kings Cross Station. She'd never been in a train before, let alone a car. Hermione had double and triple packed her trunk. Ms. Rehana had even given her some pocket change for the trip to Diagon Alley, a few weeks earlier, and Hermione had managed to scavenge a few books at half the rate. She was in _books_ , goddamn it!

Of course, there weren't exactly pages, but there was that line under You Know Who's terror reign in 1981, saying a muggle born called Hermione Granger, suspected to be the only known survivor of the killing curse as well as the cause for the Dark Wizard's subsequent disappearance. The book didn't mention her parents, except for saying they were muggles, which saddened Hermione a bit, but the prospect of knowledge was enough to keep her up all night in anticipation. The fact that she was a muggle born had apparently been a point of controversy, which Hermione hated, it sounded like some sort of racism, and she'd desperately wanted to read up on blood purity and what it meant, but she didn't have the money for a book. So what if all she got now was a bare few lines? Someday, she'd make sure there would be books about her, with her parents names as well.

Kings Cross was, for lack of better words, alive. People, everywhere- men in suits, boys and girls bustling around in neat, colourful dresses. Hermione looked ruefully down at her faded and patched up jeans and jumper. Oh well, she was in _books_ and they weren't.

Mr. Lucas had left her at Platform Nine, with a gruff, 'Take care lass,' and in the bustle of people, Hermione felt small. She pulled her heavy trunk behind her, trying to spot the partition between the platforms. Hermione closed her eyes, and rushed in trunk first. When she opened her eyes, haggling the trunk along, the sight that met her eyes was a scarlet engine which looked so fabulous and bright and hopeful, that Hermione simply couldn't fathom anything wrong on her first day at such a prestigious school.

She managed to load it in with the help of another muggle born called Dean Thomas and they got into the same compartment, along with a sandy haired Irish boy called Seamus Finnigan. Seamus looked at her oddly when she introduced herself, but Hermione chalked it down to her being the Girl Who Lived.

'So, what house, do you think you'll be in?' asked Dean, apparently very curious about the system at Hogwarts.

'I'll be a Gryffindor,' said Seamus.

'I'd like to be one too,' Hermione said. 'But a Ravenclaw wouldn't be that bad, I suppose.'

* * *

_'_ _Hermione Jean Granger, the Girl Who Lived, eh? A muggle born with a thirst to prove yourself, you're one ambitious kid. I'd put you for Ravenclaw, but that would get you nowhere. Gryffindor, maybe?'_

Gryffindor would be great, thank you.

_'_ _But you're too ambitious for your own good. And I've made my decision.'_

_SLYTHERIN!_

Hermione's sorting was not the only controversial one of the evening. Ronald Weasley, whom everyone had expected to be in Gryffindor like the rest of his family, had been sorted into Slytherin as well.

Well, thought Hermione, if the Slytherins were as prejudiced as Dean and Seamus had said, she hoped she would have an ally of sorts in Weasley.

* * *

Hermione felt sick. She had never had so much food in her life. And everything tasted so _good_. Damn, she really shouldn't have had the treacle tart. Hermione hoped she wouldn't throw it all up.

'If you're wondering why its suddenly stinking, Millicent, the mudblood just walked in.' That was Pansy Parkinson, a pug faced witch whom Hermione immediately hated. She had never liked bullies. Millicent Bulstrode, another of her dorm mates, barely glanced at Hermione before returning to pet her cat.

'A mudblood, eh? You must have been really ambitious,' said Blaise Zabini, a dark skinned boy, who plopped onto one of the couches. The Slytherin common room was in the dungeons, and was promptly decorated with the house colours- green and silver. Even some of the couches had patterns of tiny emerald eyed snakes. Hermione wondered if they could talk. There were a few portraits, which _moved_ and _talked_.

Hermione glared at him, suddenly aware of her second hand robes. She didn't know what a mudblood was, but it was obviously rude and the casual arrogance with which Zabini said the word made her believe it was a common insult in their lives.

'You shut your mouth, Zabini. You're just hating on Granger, cause she's the one who made You Know Who disappear for all these years.' Weasley cut in and Hermione met his eyes, smiling. Someone was standing up for her in this place. She immediately decided she'd try to be his friend.

'You're something to talk, Weasley.' Drawled a blonde boy, flanked by two huge boys who looked like his bodyguards. 'After all, you're a blood traitor. Oh, when father hears that a Weasley and by Merlin, the girl who lived were sorted into Slytherin. What would Salazar say? A Malfoy sharing dorms with a Weasley! There used to be standards, Father always says.'

Hermione wanted to say she didn't give a damn about what his Father said. Ron gave her a he's-a-git-ignore-him look and she nodded slightly in response.

Zabini grinned. 'We're not all going to kiss your feet, Granger. I'll be surprised if Pansy lets a mudblood sleep in her dorm. Perhaps I'll see you in the morning. Perhaps not. At any rate, good night.'

The two prefects walked in then, and everyone was directed to the dorms. She mouthed a good night to Ron before leaving, and made a mental note to ask him what a mudblood meant.

* * *

The orphanage had never been completely silent. Located in London, it was either the hustle of traffic or the incessant crying of infants. Lying on a warm four poster bed was completely new for Hermione. Everything was new. All her life, she'd been the girl from the orphanage. Here she was known. She wasn't famous the way filmstars were famous but to an extent she was, known.

Which was why she suddenly hated herself. She wasn't up for this at all. She was the orphan girl who never got adopted, with wild hair and beaver teeth. Her robes were second hand, her books tattered and old, her accent weird among the posh, well brought up pronunciation of witches like Daphne Greengrass. She wasn't pretty. She wasn't special. She wasn't even brave or intelligent enough to get into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, damn it.

Hermione realised she was homesick for a home she'd never had.

* * *

She sat next to Ron Weasley for breakfast, and watched as hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall. The blue sky, and the cacophony of goblets dropping, owls screeching, the scrape of a fork against the table, general chatter, increased in volume as the students of Hogwarts received their first post of the term.

Three red headed boys walked forward to the Slytherin table. Malfoy wrinkled his nose at them and started to brag about the sweets his mother had sent to Daphne Greengrass.

'So, Ronniekins? Never knew you'd be the one to turn to the dark side!' said one of a pair. His twin grinned mischievously while the other redhead, who wore slightly horned glasses cleared his throat.

'Now, Fred, George, there's nothing wrong on Ron's sorting-'

'Nothing _wrong_ , Perce, just unexpected,'

'Guys,' protested Ron feebly. 'Did you write mum and dad yet?'

'Well, it certainly was a surprise, I'm sure they won't worry, Ron, but no, I haven't written them yet. I thought you should be the one to do it.' said the boy called Perce.

'Chin up, little bro. You've gotta watch out, now Ronnie.'

'Don't call me that,' Ron muttered, but he did look less nervous.

'What do your lot have first?'

'Potions,' said Hermione.

'Charming. Good luck, Ronnie!' With this farewell, the twins left and Ron continued eating with gusto. Draco Malfoy was now talking about a Professor Snape, their esteemed Head of House.

'Ron, can I ask you something?' He nodded.

'What's a mudblood?'

He looked slightly uncomfortable. 'It's a really foul name for someone who's muggleborn. Like you. They're gits, you'll be fine.'

Hermione just nodded, deep in thought.

* * *

So this new world of hers was as racist as the one she'd been born into. And they'd had a civil war, which the _murder_ if her parents had ended and that was why she was called the Girl Who Lived. For not dying when the evil wizard wanted her to.

Of course, her house seemed to think it was a very casual subject. Zabini was the worst. The way he called her a mudblood was the way you called someone by their name.

('I didn't know the mudblood could pass her first term, did she wet her bed in fear, Pansy? Christmas, what a _muggle_ idea, its Yuletide, you idiot! Very tragic story about your parents, don't you think? Muggles of the lowest kind, to leave you in an orphanage of all places,')

She didn't go back for Christmas. Food was good here and anyways, Luke didn't talk to her anymore.

They picked on Ron as well, at times.

('Blood traitors, the whole lot of them, did your parents have to starve to get you that wand? Hanging around with riff raff like _Potter,_ everyone knows his mother is a mudblood, why, I think that book was bought in when, 1902?)

The fact that the rest of his family was in Gryffindor and that he was friends with a boy called Harry Potter, irritated them to no end. Dean and Seamus nodded at her sometimes in the hallways, but apart from that, the only friend she'd sort of made was Ron. She didn't like Percy, who was very pompous and Fred (they'd been surprised when she could figure them out), who was mean in his pranks at times, much but she liked George and Ron well enough.

It was a Saturday, and Ron had gone off with Potter to see the groundskeeper. Hermione sat in a corner, and reread her potions essay. Her writing and vocabulary were behind that of her year mates, because she hadn't attended school regularly. She also had a tendency to use slang, and nearly everyone had difficulty understanding her accent, which she blamed on Mr. Lucas's Scottish and Ms. Rehana's Bradford accents. But Hermione had always been a fast learner, and she was quickly scratching out words and rewriting when the Common Room door opened. Malfoy and Parkinson walked in, laughing airily. Nott, who was leaning on a couch nearby mumbled a greeting.

'Granger, don't tell me you're still doing the Potions essay. How did you pass the first term, if you can't figure out the spelling of Moonstone?'

'Shut it, Malfoy. At least I don't depend on my Father for my grades.'

'You stupid little mudblood, you don't even have a father.' Drawled Malfoy, smirking. Parkinson sighed.

'Now, now, let's not bother the girl. After all, if her parents were muggles, what can she do? Probably their filthy, common blood-'

'Shut the fuck up!' Hermione swore loudly, getting up in anger. She could feel herself flaring, the desire to hurt the stupid pighead growing, to hear her scream. She had always had a terrible temper if roused, and she could feel her magic shaking, reaching, maybe she would let it…

'Pansy, is this really necessary? The mudblood looks like she's going to explode,' Zabini remarked.

Hermione's eyes landed on the snakes decorating the wall of the fireplace. She could have sworn it just moved.

 _'Hello?'_ she hissed. There was no response.

'Trying to speak Gobbledegook, Granger?'

'I've told you to sod off and leave me alone, I think. Or are you as stupid as you look?' She didn't know where she was going with this, she usually never let their taunts rile her but God, Christmas vacations had ended, and yet, they were still like this. She _hated_ them.

'The mudblood's getting a spine, Draco.' Remarked Blaise casually, still fixated on his fingernails. This. This casual indifference was what she hated the most. She wasn't even worth of him looking up to the scene going on.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 'Mudbloods need to be taught where their places are. Up for a duel, Granger?'

'Going to waste your time and magic on illiterate little Granger-'

'I am not illiterate!' shouted Hermione hotly, her wand in her hand as she sensed magic flickering madly, uncontrollable, hurt the prat, hurt him…

Her wand slipped from her hand and with all her strength, she punched Zabini right on his perfect, pure well bred, genetic good looking nose.

She heard something like 'you bitch' and then someone had slapped her on the face. Parkinson.

She'd had enough. Hermione was not going to stand any of their insults for another moment. She'd endured them till Christmas, she'd given them their due time, tried to understand the _why_ of blood purity, but all she could accuse them for was their rotten and bigoted upbringing. She clawed at the girl's face blindly, leaving a satisfactory cut on her cheek and then picked up her wand from below. She was a witch, Hermione repeated in her mind.

She pointed her wand at them, hand slightly shaking as she heard her own voice declare, 'Yes, I'm up for a duel, Malfoy.'

'I'm not fighting with a mudblood who prefers the muggle way. Have to report you to Pomfrey, I reckon, if you're going to have another breakdown,' he said coolly as Zabini stood up from his position. He was still smirking, even as blood trickled from his nose.

'I'm going to the Hospital Wing, Draco. Poor Granger is unstable as well, I see, probably why they left their Girl Who Lived in an orphanage.'

'I'm not the one with a bleeding nose, Zabini.'

'Don't make me punch you as well, Granger. Maybe we can truly see how filthy your blood is,' he said and before she could retort, he was out of the Common Room.

'Coward!' she called out, before slumping onto the armchair. Parkinson and Malfoy stared daggers at her before leaving. Hermione resolved to check her bed for curses before sleeping.

From tomorrow, first things first, she was going to look up some good hexes. Her knuckles hurt.

* * *

' _You_ punched _Zabini_ on the nose! Merlin, I didn't know you had it in you,' Ron thumped her on the shoulder excitedly when she told him what happened. George and Potter, who were there nearby, stared at her incredulously.

'You don't look like it,' said George and Potter nodded.

'I can't stand them anymore. They're such bigoted gits, every last one of them. Tracey Davis is half blood and they bully her at times but she still acts like I'm filth.'

'Ditch Slytherins. Its their upbringing.' Said Potter darkly.

'The rest of them aren't that bad though. Adrian Pucey is good enough. So is Laura Burke, she's fine. Its our year which has almost all Death Eaters in training.' Ron said.

'Yusra Shafiq is nice,' added Hermione, remembering the dark haired second year girl she's met in the library.

'She's pretty.' George said, slightly dreamy. Hermione smiled, inexplicably reminded of Luke.

It had been a week since she'd punched Zabini and while he still called her a mudblood, most of the insults had stopped. She talked with Yusra Shafiq as well, who despite being related to the explicitly pureblood Shafiqs, wasn't a blood purist.

'You're the Girl Who Lived, Hermione,' she said one evening. 'The purebloods who supported the Dark Lord hate you because you're the one who made him disappear. The purebloods who were neutral, like mine or Zabini, don't know what to do because you're muggle born. The muggleborns take you as some tragic heroine. And now that you're sorted into Slytherin, your image doesn't look that neat, eh?'

Yusra was barely thirteen, but she had the mind of someone raised up on a daily dose of politics. The clarifications she gave were clinical, detached and yet, invaluable snippets of advice. Hermione and Ron often sat with her in the evenings and it was interesting, to learn more about this world, the Dark and the Light of it all.

* * *

'This is so weird,' remarked Hermione. It was night, a Saturday and the Weasley twins, who were very impressed with Hermione since she'd punched Zabini on the nose, had dared her and Ron to sneak out at night. Apparently it was some sort of Hogwarts Experience. She usually wasn't one for dares but she supposed she was feeling reckless today. And she was curious to find more about the castle itself, which seemed to have some medieval, almost ancient aura around it.

'What did you say in the end? Water?'

'Weird,' Hermione repeated.

'Weeds?'

'Weird.'

'Weyar- what?'

'Never mind.' Sighed Hermione. Her accent wasn't that thick.

She was used to sneaking around- whether for midnight snacks or other things, but Hogwarts was just alive, breathing. You were never truly alone here.

They walked past a portrait of an old lady diagnosing Ron's freckles as some disease while informing Hermione that she was too skinny. They then narrowly escaped a pair of luminous eyes- Mrs. Norris, and hurried into an empty classroom.

'Woah,' Ron said. 'We'll wait till the cat goes and then find the Gryffindor room.'

The classroom was adorned with a few stray spiderwebs and dust covered benches. She walked further into the room, remembering not to make any noise.

'How do you do that? You look like you're gliding,' asked Ron.

'It's a god given talent, Weasley.'

'Yeah, right. You just mean you have experience in sneaking about.'

There was a tall, elegant mirror in front of her, and everything in Hermione was telling her to not look, but Hermione still did anyway.

'Ron, c'mere, have a look,'

' Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi _._ ' Ron read out. 'Is that how you spell a sneeze?'

'Backwards,' she clarified. 'I show not your face but your heart's desire.'

He stood in front of the mirror, mouth open in awe. The next few words came out excitedly and rapid.

'I'm in Gryffindor, my robes are scarlet and gold, wait I'm holding a Nimbus, that's the best broom-'

Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated quidditch and flying. Mainly because she was hopeless at it.

'And I'm Captain, _and_ Head Boy, just like Bill, don't you think, and my Quidditch robes look brand new,'

'Is that what you really want?' she asked softly. 'New robes, riches, Gryffindor with the rest of your family, Head Boy?'

Ron looked at her. 'You think too much. Go on, have a look yourself.'

Hermione stood in front and gazed into her own reflection. Her front teeth were normal, and she was wearing a colourful, neat dress, her holly and phoenix wand in her fingers. Two people she'd never known were standing behind her, but their faces were familiar, like an old, blurry childhood memory. In her heart, she knew who they were. She just didn't dare hope for it.

In the early days at the orphanage, Hermione had somehow believed she would be adopted. It had never happened, and the fact had been accepted as it was. She had not known her parents names and that had been accepted. She had not known how they looked- whether her bushy hair was from her mother, whether her eyes were from her father, who had chosen her name and that had also been silently accepted. After all, there were kids who had never known parents, never been sung lullabies, never known their mother's milk. She had had that luck for a whole year, at the very least.

Sometimes, she felt she was lucky she didn't have any memories of her parents. Luke had had his parents till he was eight, and she remembered hearing him cry the first night at the dorms. She'd ignored it then. That way, at least she didn't miss them.

Then there was the fact that the Wizarding World had, sort of, left her in Britain instead with her father's cousin she'd never known of, but Hermione had also accepted that. There was no changing the past, only the future.

She devoured the sight hungrily, trying to remember any details, trying to see some personality in those eyes, but all she saw was happiness, peace, empty smiles. These were caricatures of real, dead people. She touched the mirror Hermione's hand. Cold, ungiving.

Her father, with warm brown eyes smiled down at her, ruffling her hair. Her mother looked at Hermione warmly, tears lining her eyes. Mirror Hermione was less skinny and more happy.

The scene changed.

Draco Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini were lying at her feet. She stood tall, smirking, twirling her wand in her fingers as she looked down at them. Her parents stood behind her and they looked famous, admired.

Was that what she really wanted?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is an AU, and as such, there is no Golden Trio because I find it highly unrealistic. Obviously, the Prophecy has changed, and Snape was not the one who heard it. Hermione will not fall in love with Draco Malfoy or be secretly pureblood, because that completely destroys the main backstory of the fic. Hermione being muggleborn is a problem, and so the Wizarding World thinks Voldemort has disappeared, not dead. Her character changes, and she is not going to cry in bathrooms, and she isn't as book smart as in canon. While she loves books, growing up in an orphanage hasn't exactly given her free library cards. She is still extremely smart and intelligent and a ruthless streak ( remember Marietta?) and still the girl who started S.P.E.W. More of Harry will be seen as the story progresses. And first year won't take up the whole fic, just another chapter.
> 
> Sorry for the long note, and review please. Feedback and any queries are welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

Potions was a disaster.

Hermione had been late by ten minutes, due to Parkinson cursing her shoes to tap dance as soon as she wore them. She had tried _finite_ , but her wand arm had been shaking real bad.

And as a suitable punishment she'd been paired up with Longbottom of Gryffindor.

The boil curing potion they had been attempting was supposed to come of as a dull orange and a misty grey vapour. Theirs had come about an angry red with a putrid smell. Such and such, Longbottom had lost Gryffindor thirty five points, and a bonus detention for both of them.

Right now, they were scrubbing cauldrons.

Snape walked in then, looking ludicrously bat like as he sized up the cleaned cauldrons.

'Very well, Longbottom, at least you are not as competent in scrubbing cauldrons as you are in destroying them. That will be enough, you may leave. For homework I expect an essay detailing what you did wrong and where. Ms. Granger, stay.'

'Sit.' It was an order and she obeyed.

'Your night time wanderings, along with Weasley has recently come to my notice. The Prefects might have informed you about the rules of Slytherin. Important note being, don't get caught. Also, it is my duty as your Head of House, to inform you that the Mirror of Erised is highly dangerous. Men have gone insane before it. I do not know what you see in it, but let me inform you, you must stop immediately. Understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Again, Ms. Granger, I can understand your problems with Mr. Zabini but any kind of fighting is not encouraged at Hogwarts-'

'He keeps calling me a mudblood!' fumed Hermione, not caring that she was interrupting her Head of House. 'And the only reason I was late today was because Parkinson jinxed my shoes. And it's not just those two, the whole house except for Ron calls me a mudblood. They call me that like it's my fucking name-'

'Swearing is not allowed in my quarters, Ms. Granger.'

'Then what is, bullying? Racism?'

'Silence, Ms. Granger. I take no cheek, not even from the Girl Who Lived-'

'Goddamn Girl Who Lived,' Hermione muttered under her breath.

'Back to the topic at hand, I would like to stress on you that whatever taunts the other first years start, I want you to ignore them or talk back or whatever but fighting is not allowed at Hogwarts. However good you might be at punching-'

Was that a smirk she saw?

It disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

'-I take no excuses. Bigotry and racists may be everywhere, but you will have to deal your own battles. Now, get out, I have essays to grade.'

* * *

_Dear Luke,_

_I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but I'm not like that, I do still want to be your friend. Hope you are doing well._

_School is nice. I've even made a good friend, Ronald Weasley. Some kids are mean, but I can handle it. The food here is really good too, I wish you could be here_

She crumpled up the parchment, that was just rubbing it in his face. Hey Luke, I have friends, food thrice a day, education? Of course he couldn't be here.

She wrote to Ms. Rehana instead.

* * *

The library was her haven, her sanctuary. She had always loved books, the smell of fresh paper, the feel of a hardback, the niggling excitement that she would learn something. But she hadn't read many of them. She'd barely been to a real library twice. Her muggle school hadn't had any. When Hermione had been nine, that whole year she hadn't gone to school. There was only one public school in the area (farther than that, they had to pay a bus fare as well) and when they had told them to get their own uniforms and stationery, the orphanage kids were home-schooled.

Then there had been an increase in funds and school had continued. Kind of, at the very least.

The Pansy episode had put up one idea in Hermione's mind; learn more curses. She had pulled off most of the charms in her school book but those were not offensive. Tickling charms were no good. A conjured snake, that sounded good.

 _Serpensortia_ , she wrote down on a parchment. Impedia, that sounded good as well. Locomotor mortis and arresto momentum. And what was this, blasting curse, a Reducto?

She wrote it down anyways.

* * *

'You know what Harry found yesterday?'

Hermione scoffed. Potter was a git, who thought he was a major prankster. Ron ignored her sentiments and continued in a whisper (they were in history of magic).

'The third floor corridor that was supposed to have a 'painful death', well Harry found out what's there. You won't believe this, Hermione, but there's a three headed dog-'

'A what?' Hermione exclaimed.

'A Cerberus, three headed dog, apparently he and Longbottom were out, Harry has some sort of Invisibility trick, I'm sure, or he won't be so good at sneaking-'

'A three headed dog? Is Dumbledore _mad_?'

'Well, no one said he was exactly sane.'

* * *

Bulstrode caught her practising spells in an unused classroom the other day. After a rather average first term in parameters of academics, Hermione had quickly started spending more and more time in her studies.

'Hey, Granger,'

Hermione turned, wand in hand, as the goblet she'd been trying to get tap dancing crashed into a thousand pieces.

'Bulstrode,' Hermione acknowledged.

'Practising, eh? Pansy says you failed the last Potions-'

'Did Pansy also mention she'd jinxed my shoes?'

'We all know Pansy, but this conversation is not about that,' Bulstrode waved off her vexations.

'Granger, I can help you with Potions, if you help me with Herbology-'

'I don't need your help-'

'You're clearly lying. Longbottom is useless at Potions. Pair up with me instead.'

'Longbottom is better than the Slytherins-'

Bulstrode laughed. 'Still cowering under the Girl Who Lived image? You've been sorted into Slytherin, there's no looking back now,'

Hermione arched an eyebrow. Even the Slytherins were so… Slytherin. But Bulstrode was right, Longbottom was doing nothing for her grade.

'So, final, Granger? I'm not with Malfoy, if that's what you're thinking.'

'You call me a mudblood.'

'Because that's what you are. Muggle borns are mudbloods, that's how I've been taught. If you find it offensive, I can make an exception'

'I am an exception, to everything it seems…'

* * *

Potter tried to prank her once.

He had set off a firework behind her just before she entered the Great Hall. It wasn't much of an explosion, his main aim being to scare her with the sound and lights. Hermione had instinctually screamed a Petrificus Totalus, which had petrified the firework rather than Potter, resulting in said firework to zoom upwards to the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, erupt in a rather violent explosion and sparks flying everywhere, in one particular instance, into Professor Kettleburn's tomato soup.

Hermione's colourful language and Potter's loud exclamation of guilt had led them both into a detention, and twenty five points from Gryffindor. Slytherin escaped unscathed in the matter of house points.

He didn't try it again.

* * *

'Potter, you don't scrub glass like that, you wet the cloth-'

'Oh,' said Potter intelligently. 'Sorry, haven't had much experience with this cleaning shit,'

They had been assigned detention with Filch, which Draco Malfoy seemed very happy about.

('You'll have to do it the muggle way, Granger, oh never mind, you're practically a squib, you probably have experience in such matters.'

'Uh-huh. At least I don't need a servant to wipe my mouth after eating. And if I'm a squib, Malfoy, you're a muggle.')

Filch, had, in some bout of insanity left her and Potter alone in a room full of fragile artifacts.

'This is all your fault,' she said, as she polished a Special Award for Services to School. 'And that prank had horrible timing, did you know some firework fell into some professor's soup-'

'Really?' exclaimed Harry, as he scrubbed at the glass cabinet the way you scrubbed frog brains from cauldrons. 'I'll have to write Dad about that, was it Snape? Please, tell me it was Snape, Snape-'

'Kettleburn. And you're scratching the glass, you dolt-'

Harry shrugged it off. 'It's magic, Granger,'

Hermione sniffed. 'And why do you hate Snape so much?

'Snape hates my dad, sort of, well, he and my mum are kind of friends, so I guess me being like my father sort of pisses him off-'

'You're rambling, Potter.'

He ran a hand through his hair. 'End line: it's real complicated.'

'Yeah, I figured that out myself,'

They passed a few more minutes like that, Hermione biting her tongue so as to not reprimand Potter for almost knocking half the things from the shelves. It was clear he hadn't done anything that even resembled cleaning in his lifetime. Then again, thought Hermione bitterly, why would he have had to? Loving parents, Gryffindor, popular, adored, _spoilt_ even.

And growing up magical.

'You aren't like the others, you know. You and Ron.' Potter said suddenly, his tone quiet.

'Like whom?'

'Slytherins. You're not like them, you're not bigoted prats or something-'

'Was that supposed to be a compliment?'

Potter shrugged, and looked down at his shoes. 'You know what I mean, you're, Hermione, you know you're kind of responsible for You Know Who disappearing and all that, right? I mean, my mother says he's almost dead at this rate, been like ten years-'

'Can't you ever stay on the same topic?' asked Hermione, but she wasn't really irritable.

'Yeah, even my mum says I'm too talkative-'

'You are,' Hermione muttered.

'-so, everyone thought you'd be Gryffindor or something, you know Light side and all?'

'Why does everyone just assume all the Dark Wizards are from Slytherin?'

'Because most of them are.' Stressed Potter.

'That's just so-' Hermione struggled to find a word.

'True,' filled Potter. Hermione shook her head.

'See,' started Potter again, wringing his hands like they could explain what he was thinking. 'You're muggleborn, but you're Slytherin. You're Slytherin, but you're not a Dark Witch or mean or a cheat-'

'I'm bloody twelve years old-' she mumbled.

'What I'm saying is, Hermione you're _nice_. And Slytherins aren't nice.'

Hermione arched an eyebrow. He was immediately distracted.

'Hey, how d'you do that?'

Potter tried to raise his, face all scrunched up in concentration. Hermione giggled, something she hadn't done in a year. His green eyes met hers, and he laughed too.

'God given talent, Potter,' she sang.

'You're an exception to everything, Granger!'

They were still laughing madly when Filch entered.

* * *

She ignored Luke's birthday. She kept telling herself she'd forgotten, but she knew, deep inside, she'd ignored his birthday.

* * *

By March, Hermione and Bulstrode had managed to successfully coexist in a somewhat civil manner. Spring began, flowers bloomed, Hermione stopped sneaking out, Ron and her got into games of chess in the common room, deliberately ignoring Malfoy's taunts. Of course, he was bullshit at chess, like everything but snobbishness.

She had also managed to avoid the Weasley twins' latest prank spree on Slytherin. She didn't need anymore detentions, she really didn't.

(Malfoy had just had one, because he'd been overzealous in trying to catch Potter, who had been sneaking out to the grounds to see the groundskeeper's _illegal_ dragon raising. They'd both had it in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione had particularly enjoyed reading loudly about acromantula and brutal centaur feuds the whole week.)

'How did you know the pumpkin juice would turn hair red?'

Two identical redheads grinned at her from where she was sitting in the library. She smirked.

'You did it last year, Ron told me.'

'This, Gred, is exactly why pesky little Ronniekins can be so pesky,'

'Yes, slightly less handsome brother of mine, maybe Ronnie needs a freshener course,'

'If anyone needs a freshener course, you both do. You shouldn't be repeating the same pranks, isn't that some kind of honour breach?'

'It's tradition.' Said George solemnly, tipping an imaginary hat.

'Yeah, well, look all this Gryffindor stuff is fine, but you should prank someone who actually deserves it. That's be great-'

Fred squinted suspiciously, before breaking into a wide smile.

'Now, Hermione, any recommendations?'

Hermione smiled. She had a whole list ready. And Draco Malfoy was majorly scared of spiders. And well, anything that had a higher IQ than him, really.

* * *

' _Serpensortia,'_ whispered Hermione. Ron was sitting next to her, playing chess with Bulstrode, who was coolly ignoring Zabini's speech on his last stepfather's appetite for French cuisine.

There was a puff of green smoke and then it disappeared. She repeated the word again, waving her wand very slightly, just a slight jerk, the books said. Slight wand flourish.

The greenish smoke rose mid air, molding into a jet black, long, snake. It slithered on the ground below her armchair, rising slightly, forked tongue slipping out.

Ron looked aghast. Bulstrode was as calm as ever. Malfoy and Parkinson stared at her suspiciously. The elder years dismissed the thing, except for the female prefect, Laura Burke, who immediately stood up.

'Do I need to get rid of it for the firsties?'

'No thanks,' said Hermione loudly, but the words weren't English, it was a strange guttural hiss.

' _Your accent is horrible,'_ the snake hissed, slit eyes focused on her. Hermione sighed. Even a bloody conjured snake was criticizing her.

' _I'll vanish you then, how does that sound?'_

If snakes could scoff, this one might have.

There was dead silence for a moment, as the entire Common Room, including the seventh years, who deemed first years unimportant, were staring at her and the snake.

'But, Granger,' came Malfoy's voice. 'You're a _mudblood_ , how can you be a, a Parselmouth?'

'You're a Parselmouth?' Yusra asked.

'Why didn't you tell us?'

'But, Granger's-'

'That's Dark Magic!' came Ron's voice, all of a sudden. 'Hermione, what-'

'It's genetic, Weasley, of course it isn't Dark Magic-'

'It's the mark of Salazar. That's what he was famous for; talking to snakes,'

'But she's a mudblood!' whined Malfoy again.

Hermione just stared on. She knew Parselmouths were considered Dark, that it was usually passed through bloodlines. Maybe she was descended from some squib somewhere, maybe some century old dormant bloodline had risen…

No, that was too dramatic. She was just one Muggleborn, who happened to be a little famous.

'Everyone, shut up,' said Marcus Flint, one used to authority, even if he did look part troll.

'So, she's a Parselmouth. Granger, vanish that snake.'

Hermione did.

'Now,' he started, voice eerily calm. 'No one, I repeat, no one will repeat a word of this. What happened in our common room stays in our common room. I reckon we're all lucky she chose the Common Room to demonstrate her skill. Granger, you will shut your mouth about this, understand. Not a word breathed? We don't need snake charmers to tarnish our image even more. Understood?'

She understood. Very clearly.

* * *

Exams started. Slytherin was after all, the house of ambition, and you could get hexed for so much as looking at the seventh or fifth years, who had their O.W.L's and N.E.W.T.S.

Hermione had, against Ron's numerous protests, devised up revision schedules and been spending so much time in the library, that Ron had to physically drag her out. There was just so much, so much to know, to learn.

She was seated in front of Greengrass, with Goyle behind her, as the first years were handed their question papers. Hermione took one look at the first question: _describe the wand movement for the levitation charm_ and smiled.

She was _acing_ this exam.

* * *

Hermione stuffed herself silly at the end of term feast. Ron looked at her weirdly and proclaimed that even he didn't eat that much. She glared. He wisely shut his mouth.

(She knew she wouldn't get this good food for the rest of the summer.)

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Kings Cross with a loud whistle. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was crowded with parents and siblings and trolleys and owls and rogue toads. She spotted Yusra, waving at her from a distance, as she was joined by a tall, dark man who was probably her father. There was Potter, whose mother was hugging him tightly. His dad was the spitting image of him with the trademark hair, but he had hazel eyes instead of green and a permanent, mischievous smile on his face. A tall, sandy haired man with several faded scars on his face stood next to them, smiling fondly, reaching out to ruffle his already messy hair. She pulled her trunk behind her bitterly, repeating in her head that she wasn't jealous. Not at all.

Someone grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd. She was led to a group of familiar redheads, as Ron beamed at her.

'Mum, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is my mother.'

Mrs. Weasley was a kind faced, plump woman, who had just been straightening Fred's tie. She didn't seem to notice that George was already pocketing something suspicious looking from a boy with dreadlocks. Hermione thought she saw a flicker of dislike pass her features, as she turned to look at Hermione.

'Yes, Ron's told me about you, dear, of course nearly everyone knows your name,' she said amiably enough, as she shook Hermione's hand. Hermione smiled politely.

She would have to walk to the orphanage, Mr. Lucas wasn't available and the faster she left the station, the better.

'Bye, Ron,' she called out as he gave a wave.

'Would you like to stay for dinner, Hermione?' Mrs. Weasley asked, quite kindly, but there was something in her face, something she didn't understand.

Hermione would have loved to, of course, but she refused, because that was politeness. Manners.

Ron and George waved at her, as they bustled into their car and Hermione waved back, grinning. She was still smiling as she trudged the trunk behind. It wasn't very heavy, and she'd even charmed it a little lighter, with Yusra's help.

She shook her head then and prepared for the long walk home. No, the long walk to the orphanage. She had left home behind, and she wouldn't be seeing it for another two months.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like first year, second year will also be short as the main story starts from third year which is where the story gets more AU.

Hermione was bent over the old sink, hands on knees as she heaved the remains of her meagre dinner. Bile rose in her throat as she vomited it all, throat burning slightly.

She cursed herself internally, she had gotten too used to the Hogwarts food, with its fresh ingredients and richness. The cereal and old cabbage soup had been new for her stomach, after getting used to the three meal delicacies at Hogwarts.

Her legs ached from all the walking. Her shoulder was slightly bruised from being shoved into a wall by a zooming car.

('What are you doing all alone, little girl? This ain't your neighbourhood.')

Hermione sighed. She should be used to this by now, really.

She wiped her mouth, and straggled out of the bathroom, hunger making its presence very clear.

* * *

When Hermione woke up, it was already late. She glanced at the old clock hanging on one of the walls. It was nearly nine.

She wolfed down some breakfast, and then walked to the backyard. There was the crunch of shoes on grass as Luke walked towards her. His black hair was tousled, and he looked at her awkwardly.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

'You don't need to be,'

'No, I really am. Its kind of lonely without you, Hermione.'

'I wanted to write,' she confessed. 'But, we, I mean they, they use owls and stuff, and if I needed a normal post, I had to pay extra.'

'You wrote to Ms. Rehana though, I know.'

'Because Professor McGonagall gave me the money to. She said I should write at least once,'

'Whatever you say. By the way the Olympics are going to be held in July in Spain-'

'Barcelona.'

He shrugged. 'It's all everyone is talking about.'

He never asked her how her year had been.

This wasn't friendship. This was just a weird mix of fourteen year old remorse and guilt. The word magic didn't cross her lips for two months.

* * *

This time, she took the Underground to Kings Cross.

('It is dangerous,' said Ms Rehana, 'for young girls to be walking through London alone. Last time was unavoidable. Also, you're barely here as it is, so I believe I can fork off some money for you.)

She knew what to expect at Hogwarts. Food, slurs, a library, magic and a little friendship.

'Hi, Ron,' she greeted as she boarded the compartment. He grinned slightly and handed her a sandwich.

'How was your summer, then?'

She bit into the sandwich and shrugged. 'Boring. You know I live in an orphanage, right? Can't even say the word magic there.'

'We went to the Potters, you know Harry's. And I got a pet,' he said with his mouth full, and produced a very ugly, squashed up rat.

'That doesn't look new, Ron.'

'It isn't, it's my brother Percy's, but I reckon Charlie had it for a month before, but well, its generally useless. He's called Scabbers by the way.'

The compartment door slid open. Potter stood there, Longbottom behind him.

'Hey, Ron, Fred and George smuggled a salamander, well it was sort of overexcited, I reckon and now its run loose along with Nev's toad, wanna help?'

Ron glanced at Hermione.

'Coming?'

It was then that Hermione realized that Ron actually thought of her as a friend, not the only tolerable person in the house he'd had the misery of being sorted into. She blinked stupidly.

'Yeah,' she said and got up, following the boys out of the compartment.

* * *

'There, that one's my sister, you saw her before summer, didn't you?' said Ron, pointing out a small red haired girl standing in line. They were sitting at the house table, Nott beside her. She had no idea why he was beside her, maybe he was doing it to avoid Malfoy bragging on his Nimbus.

'You think she's going to follow in your footsteps?'

Ron snorted. 'Fat chance. She has too much of a temper to be cunning. Also, there's only one black sheep per family. We all thought it would be Perce, but hey, at least I don't get hand me down robes now.'

That was one way of looking at it, thought Hermione as the Sorting Hat yelled GRYFFINDOR for Ginevra Weasley.

If Ron was even slightly disappointed, he hid it well.

* * *

September ended quickly. Classes went normal, she and Bulstrode had reached to the point where they could use each other's first names in rare circumstances, Potter was up to mischief as usual and she managed to win Ron over chess.

Draco Malfoy was also somewhat very pleased about this year, a sure sign that something was going wrong. When she voiced this thought to Ron he simply said that someone must have complimented him on his hair and resumed searching for Scabbers.

She spotted the Weasley twins hunched over a piece of parchment mid way through October. No major pranks had been inflicted yet, which only meant that something huge was coming.

Hermione, used to sneaking about, silently creeped beside them, partially hidden by an ugly tapestry. From here all she could see of the parchment was a myriad of ink blots and small written names that seemed to be moving all around.

'Sunday's going to be it, I'm sure. We know Filch is ill, and we haven't caused trouble yet, so he's probably being lulled by some false sense of safety-'

'Hey, George, check this out. Someone's trying real hard to know our secrets...' George looked taken aback, and then grinned.

'Will Hermione Granger please step out?'

'How did you know I was there?' spluttered Hermione. 'And what's in the parchment, why's the ink moving?'

'Prankers intuition,' said Fred while George answered quite solemnly that it was a secret.

'You can trust me, I won't tell a soul.' she said.

'Never trust anyone who says that.' Said Fred and the two of them saluted her before leaving.

* * *

'The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware! Ha, you'll be next mudbloods!'

The image of the petrified cat seemed to be burned into Hermione's eyes, the unknown words only she could hear echoing in her ears, in her mind…

( _Rip…tear…kill…)_

She didn't dare tell anyone she was hearing disembodied voices.

The Chamber of Secrets, the Chamber of Secrets, she had to know what it was. The library offered no solution. Nor did the old Daily Prophets. Ron was useless.

In the end her last resort turned out to be the answer. Bulstrode.

'An old story, a legend you can say. Well, Salazar and Gryffindor had a fight and Salazar left, but before he did, he wanted to purge all the mudbloods and blood traitors, don't look so sick Granger, its an open secret he thought mudbloods unworthy, and well, he made a secret chamber with some monster inside it, which only his Heir could unleash. If it was the real deal though, the cat should be dead, don't you think?'

Hermione didn't answer.

* * *

Whenever Malfoy opened his mouth there were only two words: Father and Quidditch. By a mixture of family name and money, he had gotten onto the House team and would be playing against Gryffindor's new found star, Harry Potter.

Hermione, who had never cared about Quidditch, was back to her routine. A quick examination of the DADA books and one look at Lockhart had shown her how competent this year was going to be. The spells she'd tried last year were practised and new hexes were written down. While Slytherin had recently seen a downfall in bullying her or Ron or even Davis at times due to the upcoming Quidditch season, there was no reason she shouldn't be prepared. Yusra accompanied her at times and while Hermione could certainly catch up with her, Yusra was in her third year. For her third year, Hermione had already chalked out the subjects she would like to take- Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and if possible, Care of Magical Creatures.

It was all fine till the news of Colin Creevey being petrified reached her.

* * *

'Well, I do know that the last time the Chamber was opened, a mudblood died,' drawled Malfoy. Zabini and Bulstrode, who were indifferent to him, continued the game of Exploding Snap they were playing. The Common Room was not yet full, as it was a Hogsmeade weekend for the third years and above. The firsties were hooked. Another batch of snooty, bigoted upbringing.

'Heard that, Granger? And now the Chamber's been opened once again.'

As the only Muggle born in the room, of course she'd heard that.

'You do know who the Heir is, then?'

'Going deaf? I said a mudblood died.'

'Well, the Heir of Slytherin must be a Parselmouth, right?' started Hermione patiently, like explaining math.

'Any self respecting descendant of Salazar would be a Parslemouth.'

'And who's the only Parselmouth you know? Well, let me disclaim that I am not suicidal. Homicide, however, is not something I'm opposed to.'

Malfoy laughed. 'Pathetic, simply pathetic. The mudblood is so delusional she thinks _she's_ the Heir!'

Parkinson giggled. Zabini seemed to pore over it.

'Well, I doubt Slytherin's monster is unleashed by blood. Parseltongue, was after all his speciality and we all know Granger's a Parselmouth…'

Ron glanced at her darkly for a moment and didn't say anything. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her like that.

* * *

It all happened very quickly. One second she'd been returning from the library and she'd heard a sort of muffled gasp and there were Nearly Headless Nick and Justin Finch Fletchley, lying like statues.

Ernie Macmillan, had of course, chosen that exact moment to bustle in. His eyes darted from her to his Petrified friend and the words that came out of his mouth would follow Hermione for the rest of the year.

'Granger did it!'

* * *

'Did you go snake charming in front of that Hufflepuff fool?' were the words that greeted Hermione as she walked into the Common Room after being interrogated by Dumbledore.

Marcus Flint was looking murderous.

'It's you I'm asking, little girl!'

('This ain't your place, little girl, go on, run away-')

She shook her head. 'I haven't spoken Parseltongue since last year. I just happened upon the petrified people, I _didn't_ do it-'

He waved a hand. 'Of course you didn't do it, you're a mudblood and a second year. But not everyone has brains and it's always easier to blame blindly.'

'Granger was in Dumbledore's office, I know-'

'He was asking me if I happened to see anything, that's it, its that stupid Macmillan who's spreading these rumours-'

'Rumours always have some truth in them,' said Zabini darkly and despite himself she saw Ron nod. Very slightly, but it was there.

* * *

'The Heir of Slytherin, they call her, but she's a muggleborn, Hannah!'

'Susan, Ernie _saw_ her there. Caught red handed, hissing curses in some ancient tongue, to tell the truth.'

'Then why's Dumbledore being so lenient?'

'He thinks she's good that's what, but even if she is the Girl Who Lived, Susan, she's a Slytherin.'

* * *

The Ravenclaws who frequented the library had taken up the logical aspect of it. It was a very good thing, thought Hermione that they didn't know for sure she was a Parselmouth.

'The Grangers are so completely muggle, their names aren't even mentioned in any books. You'd think what with her being the Girl Who Lived, there'd be something about her family history-'

'But what _is_ Slytherin's monster?'

'I think its an Acromantula.'

'He was famous for speaking to snakes, you dolt, not arachnids!'

'The Chamber was last opened 50 years ago, wasn't it? Well, then we have to find who did it then, and _voila!_ '

A boy yawned. 'Granger's a muggleborn. No way she'd petrify her own kind.'

* * *

'So, Hermione, what's the new evil plan to take over the world?'

'But do keep in mind that Fred and I don't like green for robes-'

'Or red-'

'Clashes with the legendary Weasley hair-'

'Black is sufficiently evil for henchmen, don't you think, Gred?'

'Simply perfect. Now make way for the Dark Lady Granger, everyone.'

* * *

'Hi, Hermione,' came a shy voice. Hermione turned from where she had been sitting in the library. Red hair, freckles, Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley. She had never spoken to her apart from a single hello but the girl even seemed to remember her name.

'Oh, hi Ginny.'

'I just wanted to talk to you, once. I mean, you really must be upset, because everyone seems to think that you're the one who's I mean, you know-' she finished awkwardly.

'I'm kind of ignoring them all actually. It's stupid and if they want to believe it, they can. Your brothers seem to think its funny-'

'I know, they try to scare me by dressing up in fur and things. But, Hermione, I really don't think it's you,'

'It's glad to know someone's sane in this place.'

Ginny gave a weak smile. Hermione noticed she looked quite tired and frail. For someone who had grown up in an orphanage dependent on funds, Hermione thought she seemed more fit.

'Aren't you eating enough, Ginny? You look tired.'

She went white and managed a 'Had a bad cold.'

The girl rummaged for some parchment, and started to write. The hour passed in companiable silence, and Ginny soon left.

Hermione finished the essay and as she prepared to leave, she saw that Ginny seemed to have forgotten one of her books. It was a tattered, very old copy of _Transfiguration for Beginners_.

She picked it up and placed it on the table as a small black diary slid out.

Tom Riddle, where had she read that name… Tom Riddle, T. …somewhere behind a glass cabinet, polished…

Tom Marvolo Riddle, recipient of Award for Special Services to the School.

Hermione refrained from reading it, and promptly gave it back to Ginny. She wouldn't remember that name for another few months, and after that, it would haunt her life for ever.

But then all she'd thought was Marvolo was a very odd name. _Tom Marvolo Riddle…_

* * *

For the first time in three months Malfoy had got a new topic to talk on – Potter's valentine. Apparently Lockhart had a thing for winged dwarf monstrosities.

And Ginny Weasley for Harry Potter.

The pink confetti and monstrous cupid hybrids were, to put it kindly hideous. For the first time, she actually sympathized with Potter.

* * *

Just as the castle was enveloped in a false lull of security, as spring seemed to rear its head into the bleak castle, as Professor Sprout reported that the mandrakes seemed to do well, the petrified body of half blood, Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater was found.

Hermione threw herself in a frenzy, into an obsession. The library became the target. Every book on blood purity, Slytherin's works, legends, Wizarding history, random tidbits she had never wanted to know were all swallowed in, even going so far as to trying to break into the Restricted Section. All of this information, and she was still hearing the voices…

( _Blood…rip…smell…kill..)_

-which was Parseltongue for sure, she had guessed, after all Slytherin's monster- fitting that it would be some snake monstrosity.

She couldn't find it, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't _think_ , even Bulstrode had announced that her Potions level was going down to Longbottom.

Snape was less kinder, the P on her last essay was like a brand of failure. The theory that she was the Heir didn't seem so distant now. The word Slytherin, the colour green, she was slipping into an obsession to find an end, because if Hogwarts, if magic was taken from her, she was nothing. Nothing.

* * *

'I'm worried about Ginny,' said Ron. 'She looks so pale half the time, and even Fred and George haven't managed to cheer her up. She's never this subdued at home, really.'

Hermione was worried about other things. The Groundskeeper had been taken to Azkaban, the wizarding prison, which Hermione had been most shocked about- he seemed so kind, so innocent and yet, the attacks hadn't stopped. Now even their only ally, at least what Ron believed, Dumbledore was gone. Malfoy might be happy, but no one else really was. Talks of closing the school echoed in her mind.

What would she do, if they _did_ close Hogwarts? How could she go back, once she'd had a taste of this? She, despite all the racist slurs, taunts, truly, truly _belonged_ here. It was something she clung to, this identity of hers as a witch. How could she leave this, when she could make things float and burn and shine and sparkle? When she would always be the outcast? The purebloods would manage, the half bloods would too, but her?

She didn't even have the money to take a train to Scotland, forget foreign academies.

They couldn't. No way they could.

She was of course, proved wrong the very next day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets the murderer of her parents.

(' _Her body will lie in the Chamber forever…')_

('I very much regret to inform you that Hogwarts School must, due to circumstances be closed.'

'No! No way, Ginny!')

Her breathing was shallow, and she looked upon, just staring as Ron's face went pale, as he stuttered and cursed and kept on repeating one word in a hoarse, broken noise.

He was taken to McGonagall's office along with the other Weasleys, and Hermione had never seen the twins this silent, this inhumane stillness. Even Malfoy didn't dare to say anything about it.

For the first time in years, Hermione curled up in her bed and cried. Whether she was crying for a dead girl or a lost future, or even both, she had no clue.

She wanted her mother.

* * *

Late night, Hermione stared at the ceiling, not bothering to wipe her cheeks. She was curled up in the Common Room, and even the usual nightmarish green light seemed to offer some comfort. There was a slight noise and she saw a small girlish figure approach.

That the girl's eyes were as red as her hair was all Hermione noticed before everything went black.

* * *

'Welcome, Hermione Granger to the Chamber of Secrets.'

Her vision was blurring, the teenaged boy standing in front of her looked more ghost like than human. Hermione rubbed her eyes as she took in the tall statue, the dark walls, the carvings. And lying beneath the statue, on his feet was a small red haired girl.

' _Ginny?_ What?'

'The Chamber of Secrets,' the boy repeated.

Blinking, Hermione got to her feet, looking around frantically. _This_ dingy place was the fabled and lost Chamber? The boy had an odd calculating expression on his face, and he looked blurry, like a coloured and more solidified version of a ghost.

'Who are you?'

'Funny you should ask that. I am Tom Riddle-'

'Tom Marvolo Riddle!' she exclaimed. 'You won a special award for services to the school fifty years ago.'

'Done your research, mudblood?'

'How do you know I'm a mudblood?'

The boy laughed, an ugly sound. 'Who _doesn't_? the Girl Who Lived, who doesn't know you're a mudblood?'

'What are you, then? If you went to school fifty years ago, you can't still look like you're sixteen!'

'A memory. A memory preserved in a diary for fifty years.'

'Diary? You don't mean the black diary Ginny had? So you're, what are you doing to her?' her voice was getting panicked, as she raced to where Ginny was fallen, desperately shaking her.

'Ginny, wake up!'

'She won't wake.'

' _What the fuck are you doing to her?'_ screamed Hermione, getting more and more creeped by the second.

'The foolish girl poured her soul into my diary, wrote her _heart_ into it, oh, how her brothers mock her, how her brother got sorted into Slytherin, I must admit,' he said, eyes sweeping over the green and silver hem of her robes. '-it was quite funny to hear that a Weasley was sorted into Slytherin, the standards are getting lower every year, and your year seems to have brought it down to _dirt_ , a mudblood, by Salazar. Off topic, anyway, it was very boring having to listen to her crush on some Harry Potter, they've always been nuisance, those Potters. Of course, her latest entries were more interesting- "I'm going mad, Tom, Dear Tom, Percy's friend has been petrified and I didn't know what I was doing last night, Tom, I think its me Tom", but back to topic again, you, Hermione Granger. How, did you, practically a _muggle_ , cause the disappearance of the most greatest sorcerer in the world-'

'If you mean yourself, Riddle, then I pity your self esteem. You're like a _Malfoy-_ '

'Foolish mudblood, do you still not know, what I've done…'

'Won an award?'

Riddle sneered. 'I have travelled on the paths of magic you cannot dream of. I come from a noble and ancient bloodline, what do you have, compared to the centuries of power running in my veins?'

'Me? I have a conscience. And at least I don't go around possessing eleven year olds, lost in some delusions of power!'

To think she'd even thought of herself as the Heir of Slytherin.

Riddle laughed again. He brandished his wand- _her_ wand, she belatedly realised and fiery letters appeared in mid air.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

The words rearranged themselves and Hermione's heart stopped for a moment.

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

Her hands were shaking, her breathing ragged, this sixteen year old boy who would grow up to destroy her life and countless others…

'You!' she snarled suddenly, feeling insanely reckless.

'Murderer!' Hermione spat, nails digging in her skin. This boy, this monster, she hated him, she would kill him now, what was the curse she'd read up in the library so long ago, oh yes a blasting curse, _Reducto,_ all she needed was a wand…

'Give me back my wand! I see that you just don't use eleven year old girls, you also go around stealing-'

'You think a few feeble insults can save your life, little girl? By all means, continue, if it means you will die in peace-'

'Don't call me little girl.'

'Touched a nerve? How does it matter, Hermione Granger? All I want is an answer to my question. And I've heard a lot of thing about you, how you live in an orphanage, how you were sorted into Slytherin. I grew up in an orphanage too, I was a Slytherin too. It disgusts me sometimes, seeing these similarities between me and a mudblood. Again, the longer you talk,' he said softly. 'The longer you stay alive.'

'Why I made you disappear? God knows, maybe I'm just better at the fact that I don't go around plotting murders of toddlers and drowning in delusions of being powerful or using first years to come back to life after a mudblood baby made you-'

'You _dare_ , you filthy mudblood, I who am the greatest wizard-'

'Sorry to break this to you, _Voldemort,_ ' said Hermione, enjoying the ugly expression on Riddle's face as she said the word so many people flinched at. She was after all, going to die either at the hand of her own wand or the fabled Slytherin's monster, so she would die with her head held high, and if all she could do to thwart him was insulting him, then so be it.

'-but the greatest wizard is Albus Dumbledore and not you.'

It looked like the insult had reached its mark.

'He's been driven away from this castle by the _mere_ memory of me! Such and such, you have outlived your usefulness, mudblood and I will finish the task I set forward to finish so many years ago-'

'Why did you even want to kill me?' asked Hermione, the recklessness seemed to be wearing off, fear was rising in her chest as she noticed that Ginny seemed to be going paler and Voldemort sharper, clearer.

Riddle smiled. It was not a good one. 'A last wish, little girl? The reason I even stepped into a _muggle_ house was a prophecy. A prophecy about you and me. And now, say your prayers. You'll see your parents soon, I promise…'

No, she couldn't die. Her brain seemed to have accepted facts, but her heart wanted to live. She wasn't even thirteen. Not here, no, no, please, someone, anyone, please _help_.

A soft cloth landed on her face shielding her vision as she heard the guttural hiss of Riddle speaking, something huge was slithering over the chamber floor.

She pulled away the rag from her face, belatedly noticing that it was the Sorting Hat. Then there was an explosion of bright colour, red and gold and blood sprinkled over her robes.

A deep green, gigantic snake with yellow eyes was slithering on the floor, and blood was leaking from the eyes as the magnificent bird- _phoenix_ fluttered in the air.

Riddle was livid. ' _Smell the girl then, kill her, leave the bird, kill the girl…'_

The sorting hat seemed to contract as Hermione prayed and with a thud, there was a ruby encrusted sword in her hands.

Some of the fear in her chest seemed to alleviate. The phoenix and the serpent were battling now and Hermione, sword clutched tight, with all her strength, brought it down as it sunk into the serpents body. Warm blood drenched her hands, her robes but Hermione shut her eyes and sank deeper. There was a pained hiss but Riddle's cursing told Hermione she had done her job. She got up, the bloody sword in her hand and looked from Ginny to Riddle, and at the small black diary lying. She smiled, blood lacing her teeth.

Killing Voldemort's preserved memory was more satisfying than killing a serpent.

* * *

' _Ginny!_ My daughter, Ginny!'

Hermione stood in the doorway of Dumbledore's office, surprised to see the Headmaster. The Weasleys had been sitting all together, and she saw Ginny being enveloped by her family. She stood in the doorway, her socks were _slimy_ , and there was blood all over her robes and probably in her hair as well. Her wand grasped in her hand, euphoria and adrenalin was still running through her as finally, the Weasleys realised she was there.

'Hermione Granger,' Mr. Weasley gasped and got up, clasping her dirty, bloody hands in his own. 'You have saved our daughter's life, we are _indebted_ to you, oh Merlin, thank you, thank you-'

And she was being strangled into an embrace as Mrs. Weasley sobbed incoherently, and Hermione, who had never had such a bonecrushing, warm hug, let herself melt for a minute.

'How do we repay this, how, you have saved our Ginny-'

'I think the how of Ms. Granger's rescue is something we'd all like to know, Molly,' said Dumbledore.

'I-' Hermione stumbled. She cleared her throat and set the wrecked diary on the table, and in a cool, controlled voice, started to explain.

When she was done with her tale, Ginny started to cry.

'It was me, mum, it was me who took her down to the Chamber of Secrets,'

Words seemed to fail Hermione for once in her life, and as the story of the diary unravelled, she was met with a hug from Ron.

'Thank you and sorry,' he whispered. 'Thank you and sorry.'

* * *

When she was left all alone with Dumbledore, the ruined diary on the desk, she asked if she could have a word.

'I think Ginny told you about the boy in the diary, sir. His name was Tom Riddle. Well, he grew up to be Voldemort, the man who killed my parents.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'I assume he was interested in you?'

'Killing me, more like. He asked if I knew how he disappeared and I didn't know, but he well, I asked him why he set out to kill me that night, and he said something about a prophecy-'

'Ah, I had thought you would ask me that. Hermione, this might be hard, but a prophecy was made during the first Wizarding War, and it mentioned that the downfall of the Dark Lord would be the very type of human he considers unworthy to use magic. We did not take it very seriously, but Voldemort heard bits of it, and therefore, for reasons unknown thought it would be _you_. It is something you don't need to worry about now, Hermione, after all, these sorts of prophecies do not always come true, and as Professor McGonagall informs me every year, they are not very reliable either. And you have just had an adventure. Riddle was known to be manipulative, do not let his words get into your head. And, I wish to thank you for the loyalty you showed me down in the Chamber, because nothing other than that could have brought Fawkes to you. You, Hermione, you have shown great bravery and cool thinking in the face of adversity and danger. This, after all merits a sixty points to Slytherin, don't you think? A lemon pop?'

Hermione politely declined and immediately endeavoured to sign up for divination instead.

* * *

_('It disgusts me sometimes, seeing these similarities between me and a mudblood_.'

_'_ _Riddle was known to be manipulative, do not let his words get into your head')_

She was nothing like him. And if Dumbledore was going to remain vague on such matters, well it was her head that was going to roll in the end, not his. She had to take responsibilities over herself and not depend on a man who had no relation to her, who probably didn't even know her parents' names.

For the next two days till the end of term, Hermione tried to stay out of anyone's reach, keeping to herself. There were bound to be rumours about what had happened and she wanted just that. Rumours. They could think of her as a saviour or a snake charming Dark witch, she couldn't care less.

(That Slytherin had received an anonymous sixty points no one would own up to was a major point of discussion. It made Hermione's day when Potter, who had gotten twenty points for Gryffindor had gaped idiotically at the amount of Slytherin emeralds that had appeared overnight.)

She ate as much as she could again (better one good dinner than an inadequate one and no puking) and as soon as she could found herself a secluded compartment with Ron.

She charmed the compartment door shut before sitting across him. Hermione had thought about this, did she really trust Ron that much? But this was less about trust and more about an opinion. Dumbledore might say it had nothing to do with her, but she couldn't believe Voldemort would have walked into a muggle house based on some mystic lines alone.

'So, I've got some things to tell you, which you shouldn't tell anyone else. A secret.'

This could be a test, she told herself. A test to see if she and Ron were really friends or just allies.

(We _are_ friends.)

Ron nodded. Ever since the night she'd showed up with his half dead sister and a ruined diary in hand, she hadn't talked to him. Or anyone, for that matter.

'So I'm dropping Care of Magical Creatures.'

'Why?'

'The diary that was possessing Ginny, well it had the memory of Voldemort, honestly Ron, it's just a name, and he mentioned something called a prophecy. Now I've looked those up in the library and it's a highly obscure and unreliable but often powerful thing which makes sense, seeing that Dumbledore is so tight lipped about it. Anyways, this prophecy is why my parents were killed, and so I need answers.'

'You're going to take divination with me then?'

'Yeah. I need to know more about what it means. Second, if Voldemort is in a goddamn diary, I honestly have no idea what to do, well, I, I'm fucking _scared_ , Ronald-'

'You don't need to be, he can't do anything to you. It's not your problem, Hermione-'

'Not my problem? He fucking killed my parents, destroyed my damn life, look see it this way, my parents were dentists. Muggle healers kind of,' she added quickly at the bewildered look on his face.

'They must have been rich. Not Malfoy rich but like rich enough for me to live in comfort, to not need to depend on school funds to buy parchment at the very least! They must have had a house, an office, and yet, it's all because of this Girl Who Lived bullshit that I had to grow up in an orphanage that didn't even have the cash to provide me with a decent education. Fuck all that, I would have had my parents. I didn't even know their names, for Merlin, I didn't know my _birthday_. So yes, this Voldemort _is_ my problem-'

'You're thirteen.' Said Ron curtly, but the tips of his ears were red.

'Fourteen in two months.'

'You don't need to worry about him till he's back. That Diary thing is gone. Gone. You think too much, Hermione.'

She pursed her lips, trying to calm herself as the compartment door slid open.

Millicent Bulstrode grinned. ' _Alohomora_ always works. Don't look so red Weasley, you look like a rotting tomato.'

'And you look like a troll who's just learnt how to say hello.'

'Lame one. But it rhymed, we'll give you some compensation points for that.' She said and immediately made herself at home. 'So, Granger?'

'Why're you here?'

'Pansy and Greengrass are pointing out dress robes and giggling on the latest issue of Witch Weekly. Malfoy's still bragging on his Nimbus, though he lost to Potter, _Gryffindor_ of all things-'

'Harry's a better seeker than Malfoy with an extra brain and arm put together-'

' _Harry's_ father isn't Lucius Malfoy, is he? Anyways Zabini and Theo are into conspiracy theories, Davis is hanging around with those Ravenclaws and well, me.'

'Wanted our amazing company?'

'Had no choice.' Said Millicent succinctly. It wasn't that she was like Malfoy, they were actually sort of friends and they had gone through certain strenuous Potions lessons together, yet, such things were not discussed between them, like declaration of friendship. It was given that as the mudblood and blood traitor of their house, excluding half blood Davis, who acted like an inbred pig anyway, she and Ron had to stick together. Bulstrode was here on her own.

'Did you sign up for Divination?' asked Hermione.

'Did I sign up for hogwash? No, I didn't. Care of magical creatures and Ancient Runes are enough, thank you. Besides,' she added.

'The whole house wants to know what happened with you and the Weasley girl.'

'I don't really remember,' she fibbed. Maybe Bulstrode was just being curious, but whatever it was, in the end, Bulstrode's side was clear. And she was not on Hermione's.

'I mean, I was in the Common Room, and after that I couldn't remember anything, really.'

Bulstrode rolled her eyes. 'Draco and Parkinson might fall for the obliviate story but the others won't. You better get a cover story ready.'

'Fine, you think the Cannons might have a chance in this league?' Ron said, trying to divert topic. Bulstrode rolled her eyes again.

'I don't follow losing teams.'

Hermione leaned back, feeling relaxed. It was always entertaining to watch others arguing, especially when said argument didn't involve her.

* * *

'You must come home, this time, Hermione.'

She and Ron were standing on the barrier between the muggle and magical world, and like every year, Hermione wanted to just stay in Hogwarts.

'Can you pick me up, then? Wait a second, Ms. Rehana's room has a telephone, I'll give you the number.'

She handed a torn piece of parchment with the number and address.

'You have a fireplace?'

Hermione nodded. 'You can't floo in though, its always full of people-'

'No one's awake at night, are they?'

'Yeah, but I'll have to let them know and stuff-'

Ron waved a hand carelessly. 'Just tell her your friends will be out to pick you up at night.'

'Fine, then, just let me know the date.'

She nodded a goodbye, carefully retrieved the muggle money she had for the Underground, clutched tightly in her hand and stepped back into the muggle world.

* * *

Under the safety of her bedcovers and one of her portable fires she'd conjured on the Express in hand, Hermione began her research. Till now, Voldemort had been a blemish on the horizon, a far away name. Not anymore. What Hermione needed was more on this man. How did the sixteen year old boy grow up to be this murdering psychopath the history books mentioned?

Tom Riddle had been an orphan. Tom Riddle had been the last heir of Slytherin. Tom Riddle had been Head Boy, Prefect and recipient of numerous awards, if the Trophy room was any indication. And somewhere, Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort.

Her borrowed copy of Wizarding Genealogy from Bulstrode lied open, paper and pencil in hand. She was going to trace him down, know more about his extreme views and learn more on him. The other books, a brief history of the First Wizarding War, a book consisting of third year hexes and curses (possibly borderline illegal ones, seeing it belonged to the Shafiqs), and _Prophecies: Fantasy or Reality?_ , which was supposed to have an account of prophecies that came true and those that didn't lay closed, for a later time. All borrowed books from various sources-Yusra being the main one.

Ron might say that at nearly twelve years, he was gone but if Voldemort could terrorize a school for nearly a year by a mere memory of himself, the horrors of him at his pinnacle were unimaginable. After all, the man had come after a year old toddler who couldn't have even shown her first sign of magic yet. And he also had a fifty year head start. This had become her problem now, and when she faced him again, no ifs about it, she would need to be prepared.

By midnight she had traced down the Slytherin blood to an obscure family called Gaunt, who seemed to have a nauseating amount of first cousin marriages.

Hermione Granger was nothing if not fast.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I really thought about killing Hermione in the Chamber(which would've been easy considering she doesn't know the monster is a basilisk) but couldn't bring myself to actually do it. The reason why Dobby doesn't come for Hermione is simple- she's just not that important or famous. For them, she's that weird exception in your textbook you need to remember. Again, Hermione could've simply asked Dumbledore more about the prophecy herself, but she isn't used to that. So she thinks he's being deliberately tight lipped and reasons it with him not needing to care about her.


	5. Chapter 5

The orphanage was a stone building with cold floors and large windows. Grilled windows. The whole aura often made Hermione wonder if it had once been a prison.

'Shivani, you've missed the d in knowledge. And Drew, 6 times 9 is 54, not 56.' Said Hermione, seated on one of the old wooden benches that were strewn in the main hall. Shivani pouted. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

'Do it again.' she said as Drew took the worksheet from her hand. Somedays she liked teaching the little kids. Somedays she despised it. However, it had been two years since she'd actively done this, and today was fine.

Mrs. Carter usually was there to help the kids around, especially the really young ones who didn't go to school. But Hermione didn't mind it.

'Hey Hermione,' came a voice. 'How was your year?'

Luke had gotten taller, curly hair longer and yet his shirt was new. _New._ It wasn't even Christmas. And he was asking her how her year had been. Well, she'd give him a chance.

'Okay.' The almost died went unsaid.

'How was Year Ten?'

'Same old. You remember Allyssa?'

'Vauguely.' Back when Hermione hadn't known her birthday, she was regarded two years younger than Luke. In reality, she was only a year and five months. Alyssa had been their nemesis back then. She got the same kind of contempt Hermione reserved for Parkinson.

Luke chuckled. 'Yeah well, she failed. And tried to go on a long drive with her boyfriend in her parents car-'

'She crashed it?'

He nodded. 'She didn't come to school for a week. Not because of injuries, don't be so hopeful, but because her parents gave her a big dressing down.'

'She deserved it. Anyways, where were you last night?'

The reply was curt. 'At a friend's.'

'And what else?'

'What do you mean, what else?' he fibbed. The expression on Hermione's face was murderous.

'You know me too well for my own comfort,' he grumbled.

'You're just bad at bluffing.'

He avoided her gaze. 'I've been trying to find a job.'

'What the hell for?'

'Money, what else? You think whatever education I'm getting now might help me get a job?'

And there it was, her future without magic laid out in Luke's bleak predictions. The state funded school, struggle to get into a decent college, the even bigger race to get a job, surely they were at a disadvantage. It all boiled down to money, didn't it? Knowing your roots, your blood- that's what it helped for- money, property.

'I'm not going to dropout.' He said. 'I'm just trying to get enough money that when I leave here, I'll have some stability.'

He looked her in the eye. 'What else can I do?'

Hermione sighed. The future wasn't so far away, was it? It had never been a given that the orphanage would have her till she was eighteen. Most of the elder kids left at sixteen or seventeen, a few at fifteen if they had good friends or scholarships for hostels. But her, she had dark wizards to escape before she could think about something like living. At least she didn't have to be like Luke. Her Hogwarts schooling would be enough to get her a living in the Wizarding World. That is, if she managed to live that long enough.

What else could he do, for real?

'I don't know, I mean I'm not the person who's best to talk about this, I'm barely thirteen, yeah?'

'Your life's set, girl. You're magical.' He waved a hand dismissively. He still was bitter, she thought.

Hermione gave a strained smile. 'It's never that easy, Luke. Waving a wand doesn't make everything sunshine and roses.'

'But it helps. And ain't that enough?'

She shook her head. 'It's never enough. Especially not for me.'

* * *

_The First Wizarding War- The reign of the Dark Lord_ by Raymond Andre lay open. The funny thing about it was that Hermione barely got a line in it- all it said was presumed to be the only known survivor of the Killing Curse; not the reason for Voldemort's subsequent disappearance like the library books mentioned. True, even the library book didn't give her pages, but she did have a few lines. In this book, even her name had been misspelt and though it covered the years from 1965 to 1984, her name was an afterthought. The book also tended to be mostly neutral so far, unlike the library books which glossed over everything, painted her as some tragic victim, and gave mild descriptions of ambushes. This one here, was real, no sugarcoating.

It however gave an easy explanation to the reason why she wasn't as famous or known. No one had survived the Killing curse, she had, and yet this was all because she was a mudblood. It was because most people still attributed the disappearance of Voldemort to the vigilante group known as the Order of Phoenix, led by (no surprises) Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione was not the only child to become an orphan on Halloween 1981.

There had been a huge attack, a planned ambush for Voldemort that night. That he would go hunting muggles was something no one had expected. Besides that, someone in their group had betrayed them to the Death Eaters, and there had been a battle.

It was this huge fight that diminished the fact that Voldemort had not participated in the battle. If he had, no one had seen him. On Hermione, it was already decided that a muggle girl certainly couldn't have defeated the most powerful Dark Lord in Britain's history. Therefore it was attributed that Voldemort must have been defeated by the collateral efforts of the Order.

And the young leaders, Lily and James, were awarded Order of Merlin, first class. Posthumous awards for the Prewett brothers (Ron's uncles), Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes and Frank Lonbottom. Apparently Alice had survived but was still in St. Mungo's.

And the poster boy for the 1981 victory- _Harry Potter._

It all led to one question- what _else_ had happened on Halloween 1981?

* * *

Hermione hated feeling like a charity case, because even though that was exactly what she was, it didn't mean she had to like being one. Summer at the Weasleys was despicable mainly because of this. They might be poor themselves, but they looked upon Hermione even more. Not the children, with the sole exception of Percy but especially Mrs. Weasley. Hermione straight out despised her at times. Yes, she hadn't got new muggle clothes in nearly three years. Yes, she didn't mind. Yes, she was accustomed to leftovers from yesterday being set on the table. Yes, she was fine with Slytherin.

She hated it all, the sympathetic glances from Mr. Weasley as he saw that the clothes she was wearing were two sizes too big and old. When they couldn't understand what she was saying. When they sent worried and undecipherable signals at each other, as if saying, poor girl.

Her first night she'd been gratuitously thanked a thousand times by Mrs. Weasley, given three helpings of everything including dessert. But she hadn't missed those expressions of pity.

Goddamn it all. She hated sympathy. Where was all this, when she'd been struggling without even being able to go to school? When she couldn't get the extra money to buy a gym uniform? When she had never ever even been taken out for fun? Never been able to step into those huge parks, those shops?

Being in the Weasley household, however gave her the added advantage of being able to perform magic over the holidays. Just another of those pureblood perks. It might have bothered her two years ago, but now Hermione knew this world for what it was.

Of course, Mrs. Weasley had prohibited it, along with a million other things, but Fred and George had only one mission in life- break all of them.

And they were very knowledgeable in such matters.

She leaned back against one of the trees in the garden, as Fred and George tried to race each other on cleansweeps. Ginny was beside her. She had been extremely nervous since the day she'd arrived, as if her arrival meant a reprise of Voldemort's memories.

'Does it bother you still?' she asked, as she watched a butterfly fluttering around. Ginny went red. Her hands seemed to shake slightly as her voice dropped into a whisper.

'To be honest, yes. Its like he's still in my head, like he can control me, that all this is just a dream and when I wake up I'll be lying in the Chamber, dying. His laugh, its still stuck in my head. And I hear it, and I wonder if I was so influenced by Tom, that am I really gone, just a shadow left.'

Her voice dropped even lower and the words were hurried as she continued. 'He was just, so , so understanding, so _kind_. I mean he listened. He listened when no one else did.'

'And he used it.' Hermione said. And there it was, Tom Riddle's greatest power- manipulation.

'He was charming, kind, friendly even and the more you trusted him, the more he grew, the more he thrived. And he knows how to use people.'

Ginny just stared at her. Hermione leaned back, feeling a sort of morbid curiosity as to how it would feel to play with someone like that, if they truly deserved it.

Maybe she liked it.

* * *

'Does it bother them, Ron, you being in Slytherin?' she asked, as she sat on his bed. She was of course, sharing with Ginny, in line with Mrs. Weasley's rules, but Ginny was just so subdued nowadays, and Hermione didn't feel like playing counsellor.

The blue eyes looked at her. He gave a low whistle. 'Yes, it does. And to be fair, I didn't expect it either. I told it I would just leave if it sorted me into Slytherin. The hat said that negotiating was a very Slytherin thing indeed. 'Course, I just didn't realise it said the last part aloud. Oh they won't say it straight to my face, but I've disappointed them for sure. I don't really mind now. It gets me new robes, at the very least. And it sets me apart. Not in a good way, but well, I've been robbed of distinction my whole life. At least I get to be the only Weasley in Slytherin. Be a bit hard to live up to _that_ legacy.'

* * *

'So enjoy Egypt, Ron. And steer clear of the Twins, they're planning to lock Percy in one of those tombs, might extend it to you as well. Plus, write to me, 'kay?'

Ron grinned, hugging her tightly. 'Take care, don't let that measly soup make you any thinner,'

'Do be quiet Ron, one might actually think you cared about me-'

'Whatever put such an idea in your head? Caring about someone isn't a very Slytherin thing to do.'

She smiled and it quickly disappeared as Mrs. Weasley walked in.

'I do hope you'll be alright dear, never have understood those Muggle contraptions-'

'Hermionekins is going to Diagon Alley today, mum, give her the Floo powder.' Interjected Fred.

'Don't call me that.' She snapped and he winked.

'Oh of course, here you go dear, don't you have the money, Hermione?'

She internally rolled her eyes. They'd gone through this routine thrice yesterday. She would go to Diagon, get her stuff and then take the Underground back to the orphanage. It wasn't exactly hard.

'Yes, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for having me here, really.'

'No trouble, no trouble. Surely you'll visit next time?'

No thanks. 'Of course, its been a great holiday, bye Ginny, Ron! Have fun in Egypt!'

And she stepped into the emerald flames.

* * *

Mildly interested as to who the new Defence Professor was, seeing as the book seemed to be quite standard, maybe a bit advanced, Hermione made her way to the apothecary. Just as she stepped out of the shop, she caught sight of a familiar blonde.

She quickly cast a silencing charm around herself as she followed Malfoy, who was following a man with the same white blonde hair as him. The pair walked further, and Hermione caught the sign on the deceptively dark alley they were entering now.

Knockturn Alley.

Everything seemed to scream at her to get out, with its obscure shops and suspicious people. Wait, were those fingernails on that tray?

But Hermione's curiosity was not that easy to satisfy, so she continued.

Hermione took care to stay in the shadows, trying to remember the incantation for a Disillusionment charm. She stumbled into an abandoned shack, which was more apt to be a cupboard and withdrew the shutters barely enough for a sliver to see from. Malfoy and his dad then entered the largest shop on the street, which was still seedier than the rest.

'-Potter, really, he's brought his family down to dirt by marrying that mudblood. No honour at all, and now meddling with the Malfoys, surely sir,' she heard an oily, almost slick voice, and then the cold voice of Lucius Malfoy interjected.

'I do appreciate your views, Borgin, but Salazar, we all know how infuriating Potter can be. I suppose the Ministry is struggling to maintain Hogwarts' independence without their interference but after the Chamber of Secrets episode, and all those _dreadful_ attacks, Dumbledore is in no way capable. After all, if rumours are to be believed, the _mudblood_ was involved.'

He gave a side glance to Draco who was looking at a shrivelled, old hand.

'Certainly, these mudbloods with their rootless existences must be removed, oh well, the situation only seems to taper in their favour.'

'It is pointless to raise such arguments. The werewolf laws itself were passed with great difficulty. Lily Potter was especially vindictive in the protests. It has gained her a reputation.' Said Lucius Malfoy. 'And there is their Girl Who Lived, a mudblood who's managed to land herself in Slytherin-'

'No one likes her Father. All she does is hang around with that Weasley-'

'Do not interrupt in matters you do not understand Draco, it is most unbecoming. There is nothing we can do about them in such an atmosphere of course, and anyways, I must revert to business.'

'I am not prepared to take anything with insinuations, Mr. Malfoy.'

'Nothing of that sort will leave my manor, especially not for the likes of _Potter_.'

'Then I do hope you've understood my terms.' The oily voice came.

There was a rustle of parchment, and the clink of Galleons being exchanged.

'Of course, I can only hope you will uphold your end too, Borgin.' He said in a tone which clearly stated what would happen if said bargain was not upholded.

'Come on, Draco.' He said, and Malfoy, eyes still fixed on the hand, followed him reluctantly. The pair left the street, and just as Hermione decided to leave as well, she heard a low voice mumble, and all of a sudden she was bound in ropes.

The familiar oily voice reached her ears, as Borgin looked at her, eyeing the bonds.

'So, so, little mudblood, showing your tactless ways, eavesdropping, girl?'

Hermione's breath caught, her heart beating against her chest loudly, as she struggled to get out, her fingers trying to reach her wand. She was panicking, hands clawing desperately.

'Expelliarmius.' Said Borgin smoothly.

She shut her eyes, trying to concentrate. She had done accidental magic before, surely she could do it now, controlled. _Breathe, Hermione, breathe, and snap, that's it, you can get out, don't panic._ She wriggled a bit more, and her nails found the rope, but it was too hard to saw through.

Borgin tsked. 'Pathetic display. You will not be freed unless I let you, little girl. Did you think this was a safe place and I would give you cookies? Or take you home safely?'

'Don't call me little girl,' she snapped, trying to quiet the whispers in her head.

'Eavesdropping is not something I take lightly.'

'I didn't even hear half the things you were saying!' she countered half heartedly. And then she felt a cold presence in her head, like a hand reaching for something, an unwanted obsessive thought. _Go away_.

' _Reducto!'_ she screamed out loud from some reflex, and though the curse didn't work, the ropes tightened. _Oh no, Merlin, what do I do?_

'Liar.' Spat Borgin. 'You heard everything, you filthy little mudblood. And you seem to be getting out of your league, blasting curses don't come easy. Especially not for mudbloods. Tempted to kill you, but you might be useful later on. And therefore, _Obliviate!'_

* * *

Hermione rubbed her elbow, as she took in her surroundings. Her elbow was bruised, her knee scraped, and why did her wrists have slightly red marks around them? She felt sleepy, disoriented. Belatedly, she realised that some of her books had fallen on the street and she picked them up, trying to remember what exactly had happened after exiting the Apothecary. For some reason, the image of blonde hair kept popping in her mind. Had she fainted or something in the middle of Diagon Alley? No, she'd most likely tripped and fell. It was probably that. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a faded, diminishing sign displaying Knockturn Alley.

Curious, Hermione walked in.

* * *

Knockturn Alley was full of shops that seemed to be ready to collapse at a moments notice, as if the government might force them to vacate any day and they mustn't leave any evidence behind, with the exception of one large one called Borgin and Burkes. Were they related to Laura Burke, by any chance?

Possibly, seeing as all the purebloods seemed to be related to one another. Almost a quarter of them were closed and painted in dull shades. But they didn't look abandoned.

Service at night only then. Easier to avoid the general patrols.

An elderly witch with dreadful teeth gave a yellow smile.

'Are you lost, little girl?'

Why did everyone call her that? She was nearly fourteen years old, for God's sake. And besides, it gave way to memories she didn't really want to remember. Hermione shook her head and continued on.

She kept to the sidelines, sinking into the shadows as she passed some suspiciously hag like women, with a tray of hell, toenail clippings. And small, dried things she had never known existed. She didn't recognise any of the people milling around, or the suspicious stains on a man's shirt. It looked like blood.

There were shops with signs in scripts she didn't know, and there were a wide variety of apothecaries that seemed to cater to the much darker side of potion brewing. A set of large opals caught her eye, and she read the sign.

"Cursed. Do not touch. Has killed nineteen muggles to date."

And that practically summed Knockturn Alley up. Borderline illegal. Not completely illegal, but just there on that delicate line. Hermione wondered how much was actually legal in here. The owner of Borgin and Burkes, a sallow man with greasy hair, shot a disgusted look at her. Was she that recognisable as the Girl Who Lived?

Hermione walked into one of the smallest shops, barely a shack, selling books. The owner, an extremely tall and thin witch looked down at her. Her accent was foreign, something that sounded Slavic.

'Where are your parents, girl?'

'I've come alone, Miss-'

The woman smiled, showing yellowish teeth. 'This is not a place for little girls. You'd better leave, _da?_ '

'Pardon me, but I don't really see any age restrictions on entering here.'

'Let me inform you, little girl, that _I_ am the proprietor of this place and as such, I reserve the right to service only those I deem worthy. Your age restrictions mean nothing here, _rozumiet_?'

'Please Madame, you do realize that derivations of the Unforgivables, as well as untested Dark curse,' she said sweetly, pointing towards said volume with her wand. ',have been termed illegal since the last nine years.'

The woman bent even more further, black eyes meeting brown. 'You might be bright for your age. But you're not bright enough to realise what sort of danger you're getting yourself into.' She had long fingers, noticed Hermione all of a sudden. Thin and pale, with sharp, painted nails. Good for gripping wands. Good for cursing people.

'You do not negotiate with me. I repeat, this is not a place for little girls. Your pathetic fancies of calling the Aurors will not work. Yes, I am selling illegal books like every other shop in this street. And no one gives shit about it. Learn that quick, and you might just survive.'

Her dark eyes lingered on the scar on her forehead.

'Be careful, _mudblood.'_

_How the hell did she know?_

_'Budeš to potrebovat._ You will need it.'

* * *

Hermione brought a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , and settled down on a bench. It did well to be informed. Millicent and Ron, when they wrote to her, did mention these happenings, seeing as she couldn't bring much from the magical world to her orphanage- another disadvantage for her but well, she'd like to do some reading on her own. She unfurled the copy, and the picture of a short, toad faced woman blinked at her. _Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic,_ read the caption.

_On the ninth of August, ten days prior, Miss Umbridge had advocated the amendment of the Werewolf segregation and protection acts, see page 13. Several prominent members of the Wizarding society have condemned this new legislation. In the words of head of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones,_

_"These new laws are discriminating and are manipulatively removing certain fundamental rights guaranteed by the Ministry. It is highly shameful that such an act could be passed by a majority in the Wizengamot."_ _Aurors Lily and James Potter. Kingsley Shacklebot and other important Ministry officials have vehemently protested this as well, along with statements from Headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore and ex Auror Mad Eye- Alastor Moody. Ex Auror Moody has also been rumoured as to having the DADA position at Hogwarts this year, see page 10._

Hermione flipped to page ten and sighed. An ex auror who might or might not be batshit crazy and was certainly paranoid of dustbins. And he seemed to be advocating werewolf rights, i.e getting on the wrong side of the Ministry. This was going to be an interesting year.

* * *

'So did you get a job?' asked Hermione. She and Luke were walking to the small sweetshop at the corner- Hermione had exchanged some of her galleons to pounds, something Hogwarts really didn't need to know what she was using their funds for.

'Not yet. There's always the option of working at Vanti's restaurant, but I'll still be looking. Chocolate or pistachio?'

'Pistachio.'

'You want to go to the park?'

She shrugged, and they walked further. Hermione sat on the swing, and licked her ice cream.

'I've always wanted it to rain when I eat ice cream,' she said. 'It's never happened.'

Luke chuckled. 'Tried it once, had a terrible cold for weeks.'

'Well, what's been going on when I'm away?'

'Damn, I really forgot to tell you this, but Ashfaq visited!'

Her eyes widened, a childish smile on her face. Ashfaq was Ms. Rehana's younger brother and even today, his name gave way to a childish excitement. He visited twice a year usually, and was the cool older brother she'd never have, with stories and magic tricks, candies and hidden gifts. He had gone to places she could only dream of, and he always got them chocolates. Hermione had _lived_ for those small moments.

The second she saw him, she would run, and he would spin her around, and whisper anecdotes about his elder sister as kids, and look at her with those brown eyes, and tell her he'd take her on a ride on his motorcycle someday. However for the last three years, he'd gone back to Bradford and was planning to visit his parent's hometown, Karachi, Pakistan. They'd seen him briefly once, not again.

'How could you? When did he visit?'

'January, nope, February, yeah.'

'So he managed to get to Pakistan?'

'No, apparently there's some huge political shit going on there- Nawaz Sharif, I think his name is. And the president, can't remember his name, too long. Besides, Pakistan and India are up with Kashmir again, he said.'

'Again?'

He nodded. 'He asked for you though, and when he got to know you'd got a scholarship at some Scottish boarding school, he was really happy for you, Hermione.'

It made the smile on her face grow wider. There was a minute of silence and then Luke's voice cut in urgently.

'Hey, Hermione is it just me or do you smell smoke?'

She coughed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's 2021 and the Kashmir issue is still going on.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione's hand almost reflexively landed on her wand as she got up. The sun was just starting to set, it was barely more than seven in the evening.

'I think it's coming from the right, on 'Crescent.'

'I reckon it's a fire.' Said Hermione, and the two of them ran across the street. The neighbourhood behind the orphanage wasn't exactly posh, but the street they were walking on was mostly middle class. The smoke seemed to be coming a few streets away, probably the one parallel to High street. If it really was a fire, that would be a hard blow, seeing as that locality was mostly poor.

'I think they've called 999,' said Luke.

'The shortcut, is it still open?'

'Yeah, to the right, Hermione.'

The grass was tall here, the house long abandoned. Hermione and Luke straggled around the weeds, quickly reaching the crumbling back wall.

'It's fallen even more,' she remarked, as Luke climbed over. Hermione followed on and jumped down, breath catching. This was the backyard of the Millers, to the right was the old lady and there was the greengrocer, no she lived left, why couldn't she remember?

She coughed. It was growing dark. Luke grabbed her hand and she followed, as they raced inside the locality, finally reaching the site of the fire.

Hermione gasped. The fire was raging, alive, _angry_. A woman was wailing, words she couldn't decipher, her baby in her arms as she looked on as her house burned.

'999.' Came Luke's voice, something steady. 'Miss, have you called the fire station? Who's inside? What's inside?'

'I've called,' the woman muttered, but she seemed to be ready to dart into the flaming house any second. She was slightly rocking back to front, mumbling something. Hermione thought it might be a prayer.

Hermione shuffled front, the smoke and heat scalding.

' _Impervious!'_ she cast. She didn't know what she was doing, only that this had to stop. Wasn't this exactly what magic was supposed to be used for?

_(Magic in front of muggles, prohibited-')_

The woman wouldn't notice, only Luke did.

'Hermione, what-'

'Aquamenti! No, aguamenti!'

Water splashed from her wand, but very feebly. This was her first time performing this spell, so well-another try.

'Aguamenti!' she said again. The water that appeared now was more satisfactory but was nothing in front of the devouring fire.

'Impervious,' she cast again, as she walked further, to protect herself from the stray flames. She was in trouble, she knew it, so what was another spell?

'Hermione, stop, what if it's an electric fire-'

Fuck. She pocketed her wand, trying hard not to panic, even though that was exactly what she was doing. Why couldn't she _think_ before anything?

'Hermione, what the-'

'Is it an electric fire?' she asked, feeling like an idiot. The woman didn't answer, just kept on rocking. The whole sight made her feel helpless, just any other muggle. Was this how her parents had felt in front of Voldemort? Had they known that death would come knocking on Halloween? Had they tried to fight back? But what could they have done- try to stab him with a knife? All because some crackpot fool had made a prophecy…

She was a witch. She wasn't her parents, she had magic. She could, she had to do something. But she couldn't think- all she was feeling was the scalding heat, the angry flames, the smell of smoke. Behind her Luke coughed again.

There was only one sentence running in her mind- if this had been the orphanage; she would be ashes.

Hermione Granger was not magic. She was useless.

* * *

'So, Granger, care to tell us what happened last year with the Weasley girl? Something about the Chamber of Secrets?'

Hermione who had been lost in thoughts about the letter she'd received days earlier (" _Dear Ms Granger, we have received intelligence that a Water making charm ... further spell work on your part may lead to expulsion from said school")_ looked up. She sighed. Draco Malfoy was the last person she wanted to see on the Hogwarts Express. His minions, Crabbe and Goyle, were behind him, squeezed together to fit into the doorway.

'No.' she said clearly. 'And sod off, there's no royal parade waiting for you. Besides those minions of yours seem to need oxygen, so if you want them alive, I'd suggest you to move a little. The three of you are hogging the entrance.'

'You think you're clever, mudblood?' said Malfoy, drawing his wand rather dramatically.

'Yes, yes, you've terrified me. Now move- unlike you, I don't have all day. Why don't you go pick on those first years instead. Something more to your level, yeah?'

Malfoy's lip curled. He reached for his wand, and was about to say something when a sharp voice cut in.

'What is this here? Malfoy, Goyle move, give the girl some space to board-'

Hermione turned to face a tall, handsome boy with grey eyes. Parkinson would have swooned.

The boy looked at her, as Malfoy seemed to notice the prefect badge on his robes. It was almost simultaneous- the sneer that the boy was a _Hufflepuff_ and the fear that he was a prefect.

'We'll see to this later, mudblood.' Said Malfoy as the three of them disappeared into the train corridor.

'How dare he?' spat the boy. 'Malfoy is such an-'

He quickly censored himself as though Hermione was a very innocent little firstie.

'Oh well, I'm Cedric Diggory,' he said, giving her a hand. She shook it and said, 'Hermione Granger.'

'I know,' said Cedric. 'That was extremely rude of Malfoy, to call you a-'

'A mudblood?' she asked, quite innocently, enjoying the expression of surprise on her being so casual and disgust on Hermione calling herself a mudblood on his face.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. 'Yeah, that. It isn't something you say in polite company-'

'Malfoy is hardly known for his manners.'

'Maybe expecting him to act like a decent human is a bit too much to ask.'

'Yeah, well,' said Hermione, climbing onto the train.

'You didn't need to do that,'

'I know,' smiled Cedric, now helping her with her trunk (why was he so goddamn nice?).

'That wasn't a thank you. What I mean is that you don't need to interfere between Malfoy and me. I don't need the help.'

She meant it. Malfoy had been a constant itch for the last two years. Why should she suddenly need help when she'd managed well so far?

'Damn, quite angry you're for a third year. What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong, just that things in Slytherin are different. Besides, I've managed this for the past two years, I don't need help now. I'm not being rude,' she added. 'It's just how it is. Calling me a mudblood is no big deal here and I've learnt this stuff early. At any rate, thanks, the trunk was heavy.'

He looked surprised. 'Quite an optimistic one, aren't you? Well, I don't give up easy. See you around, _Hermione_!'

He purposefully emphasised the usage of her first name. Cedric winked, and then waving, disappeared into the crowd. Hermione sighed again and very determinedly, didn't wave back.

She must have arrived a bit late, seeing that almost every compartment seemed to be full. Hermione bumped into Ron, after five minutes of searching the compartments. He yawned.

'Didn't sleep a wink last night, our ghoul seems to have been hosting a self awareness concert. As if I need a reminder he lives right above my head. Did you find a compartment?'

She shook her head, and they continued along the corridor. Ron yawned again, as she slid open the door of the last one.

There was a small, blonde girl sitting in the corner. A very fluorescent pink pair of spectacles was perched on her long hair as she turned to look at them with large, blue eyes.

'Hello, is it fine if we sit here, everywhere else is full?'

She nodded slightly, and moved closer to the window. Her robes were hemmed with bronze and blue.

'You're Hermione Granger.' she said, nodding again. 'And you are Ronald Weasley.'

Ron looked surprised, as he sat down beside Hermione.

'How d'you know me?'

'I know your sister. Besides a Weasley and the Girl Who Lived being sorted in Slytherin isn't something that happens every year.' she said in a matter of fact voice. 'I'm Luna Lovegood, by the way.'

'Nice to meet you, Luna.' Said Hermione. Luna merely blinked, before saying something that something that sounded like Snorcacks and took out a book titled the Quibbler.

'Anything interesting in there?' asked Ron, leaning back.

Luna handed him the magazine, which had the picture of something that looked like a Hippogriff on it, and a title in bright yellow- The Swedish Crumple Horned Snorcack: Finally revealed- its strange habitats and habits.

'Which year are you in?' asked Hermione.

'This is my second year.'

Ron handed the girl her book back, and made a face at Hermione, who raised her eyebrows in question.

'Hermione, want to go see Harry?'

She glared. He knew she detested Potter, but Ron seemed to be thinking something else.

'Potter? Okay, yeah,' she said and the two of them walked out. As soon as the door slid shut, Ron nearly collapsed onto the floor in silent laughter.

'That girl-' he snorted. 'In Merlin's name, have I never heard this much nonsense in one page, not saying much as I'm not a huge reader, but man,'

'It's not funny if you're the only one laughing, Ron.'

'Fine, fine, but that book was just rubbish- something about Fudge being a goblin lover, and trying to break Gringotts by giving it to the elves because they'll serve us without any problems. I mean, I don't listen to Binns and even I know how brutal they can be,'

'Giving Gringotts to the elves?' Hermione repeated.

'That's just the beginning- and it had an article on something called Nargles, which apparently makes your brain fuzzy, now I know the secret of my Potions grades, it's been Snape's negative aura all along that's aiding the Nargles-'

'Nargles?'

'Oh and besides, I do feel sorry for that girl, she's probably a lunatic, seeing that her _father's_ the editor. Weren't Ravenclaws supposed to be smart?'

'Maybe it's supposed to be a parody or something-'

The compartment door suddenly slid open, as Luna walked to where they were standing. She didn't blink, but said in a voice that seemed to have lost all its dreamy quality.

'I thought you were going to see a Harry Potter?'

Hermione blinked; Ron cleared his throat awkwardly.

'Yeah, we were just asking-' He seemed to realise that there was no one to ask but the walls, so he looked down at his shoes instead.

'Directions because we saw Longbottom- I mean Neville walk that way.' Completed Hermione.

'Funny, I thought I heard someone laughing. Must have been the Nargles,' she said, nodding to herself.

'Oh, and Ronald,' she added suddenly, her pink glasses on. 'Did you like the edition?'

Ron's ears went red. Hermione elbowed him.

'Oh, yeah, it was very interesting-'

'Daddy will be happy to hear that. Would you like a subscription?'

She elbowed him again. Ron opened his mouth, stuttering.

'Yeah, Luna, I'd like one, thanks.'

Luna gave a dreamy smile in response. The look of horror on Ron's face was something that deserved its own Hall of Fame to commemorate it.

* * *

'Why's Malfoy looking like he's just got a hair do?' whispered Hermione as she and Ron entered the Common Room. She and Ron had just been in a discussion as to who was the new defence professor- Dumbledore had mentioned that the DADA classes were cancelled for the first week, due to some change in schedule. Hermione thought it most likely had something to do with these werewolf protests.

It was comforting- the greenish light, the cold, the silence, it contrasted to the angry flames, the heat, the wailing of the woman. Somewhere through these last two years; it had changed from the snake pit to home. Hermione didn't mind being a Slytherin- it did tarnish her reputation among those who actually knew the facts of Halloween 1981, but it didn't matter much to her. It was just most of her year mates she couldn't stand.

'Merlin knows, maybe his daddy's found another way to slip dark artifacts into Hogwarts,' said Ron darkly. The image of blonde hair and the word dark artifacts seemed to stir something in her brain, like a fuzzy childhood memory she didn't remember experiencing.

Laura Burke and Adrian Pucey, the new fifth year prefect were informing the new firsties the rules of Slytherin. There were of course, no mudbloods, that honour went to Hermione herself, but there did seem to be a halfblood and a boy with a very pronounced Irish accent. She vaguely noticed a girl with the same shade of blonde as Daphne Greengrass, but apart from that the Sorting had been more or less ignored.

'Did Egypt do her any good?' asked Hermione.

'More or less, I guess. I mean, seeing Bill did make her happy, but she gets into these silent moods sometimes, like she's in some lost world-'

'So, Granger, what did happen last year with the Weasley girl?' came an annoying, shrill voice. Hermione sighed, turning to face Parkinson, who was sitting beside Malfoy and practically purring. _God's sake_ …

'Nothing happened. Dumbledore appeared at the right moment and saved her. At any rate, Pansy, you seem to be a little too inquisitive about the Gryffindors?'

'Don't play the fool with me, mudblood-'

'Play the fool with a fool? What d'you mean?'

Ron sniggered. 'Anything funny, Weasley?' asked Malfoy.

'You really don't want me to answer that, Malfoy.'

Malfoy got up dramatically, twirling his wand.

'Up for a duel? A real wizard's duel, not your muggle ways-'

'As if you're good at either.'

'Shut up, you mudblood.'

Hermione sent a Stinging Hex in his direction- it seemed to hit its mark as Malfoy gave a high pitched yelp.

' _Densauego!'_

Hermione ducked at the last moment and quickly sent a Flipendo in his direction. Malfoy was knocked down but not before an unrecognisable spell hit her wand arm.

Hermione dropped onto the carpet, holding her hand gently, as she surveyed the damage. Fuck, it was burning like hell, and it seemed to have hit right over that burn from the fire. She heard the loud voice of Marcus Flint and Laura cursing, as Ron tried to bring her to her feet.

'I'm fine,' she protested, getting up, just as Laura Burke loudly proclaimed detention for both of them.

'Weasley was involved too,' piped Parkinson. Hermione shook her head to Ron who seemed to be ready to elaborate on this statement, trying to gesture that one detention for her and Malfoy was enough, he didn't need to join the club as well.

'So were you then,' said Millicent. 'The only people who used magic were Draco and Hermione-'

'Everyone, shut up. Granger, you'd better go to the Hospital Wing. Weasley, take her. Fighting is not allowed in the Common Room, and I know this isn't your first time. I'll be letting Professor Snape know about this, and he'll do whatever he wishes. Now get out of my sight, you're setting a bad example for the first years.'

Hermione swore loudly causing the new first years to look at her in surprise, like she was corrupting them. Pricks- they probably had their own set of pureblood approved swearwords. The first day of term and Malfoy had already managed to land her in a detention. Over nothing- the Chamber of Secrets episode had already been buried under Dumbledore's word and the new Werewolf law protests. Probably some blasted wound to his ego.

'C'mon Hermione,' said Ron, gripping her left wrist, as they made the trip to the Hospital Wing. She had only been there once- after the Chamber episode, and so she led the way, trying to remember whether it had been the right of the mad knight's portrait or to the left.

Of course, the mad portrait was there, yelling useless directions.

'Where'd you want to go, m'lady, Sir Cadogan will chase those mongrels away, scurvy, dragon pox inflicted-'

'Doesn't he ever shut up?' muttered Ron, as Hermione led to the right. The knight was still shouting, something about his own poetry.

'Madam Pomfrey,' called Ron. The matron turned from where she'd been measuring potions, took one look at the very angry red wound spreading on Hermione's hand and made her sit down on the bed as she hustled around, applying some salve.

'Malfoy did it,' said Ron in a low voice. 'I don't know what curse that was, probably learnt it from his Death Eater scum of a Father-'

'Mr. Weasley! None of that talk in my quarters. Now, Ms. Granger, there's nothing to worry about, it'll heal in a day or two. But there seems to be a burn already there?'

'Oh yeah, I kinda, I mean I kind of burned my hand- there was a fire in our locality.'

'Well, then it'll leave a scar. Of course, that can be removed, but only after the whole thing heals-'

'It's fine,' said Hermione dismissively. Scars weren't new for her.

* * *

Hermione stared depressingly into the dregs of her teacup (blue patterned because she was sitting next to Longbottom). The only other Slytherins apart from her and Ron were Parkinson and Daphne, both of whom had quickly decided that this would be their very own History of Magic, teacher approved bunking.

'I'm sorry to say, m'dears, that books will only take you so far in this subject. The Sight is a gift granted to a few…'

Professor Trelawney wandered around, looking like a human sized version of an insect, with her numerous shawls hanging. Hermione was afraid it might fall into the fireplace, looking at the sheer number of them.

'Oho, Miss Patil, you have the creeper, do be careful in your Herbology classes, as well as beware of backstabbing, jealous friends-'

'Yeah, Sprout says the Venomous Tentaculas are teething.' Mumbled Ron.

'So, Longbottom, is your grandmother doing well?'

She seemed to be making it her mission to scare everyone to death- apparently even seeing something that looked like the sun meant a sudden fire, or even a mundane bowler hat, (according to Ron anyway, Hermione thought it looked like a club instead) meant a violent death.

As the class was about to end (all Hermione had learnt was that by November someone in their class was going to drop dead), she raised her hand.

'Professor, when will we be learning on prophecies?'

Trelawney gave a dramatic sigh, and settled onto her overstuffed pouffe, shaded by the numerous incense sticks being lighted.

'M'dear, you ask of the magic of the great Seers! That is an ancient magic, magic that you cannot comprehend, clouded as we all are by the Real World. But I sense darkness around you, my girl, a tragedy, as sorry as I am to tell you this, you do have the markings, the curiosity for such a craft, but alas, the True Sight is granted to a few. I am sorry to say, unless the Fates deem you receptive for this lore, you will not be able to comprehend the intricacies of the Art I practise.'

'But do not lose hope,' she added, after the collective gasp of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil in admiration ended. 'The Fates may deem you worthy, if you spend more and more time of your mental presence with those gifted with the aura…'

Hermione decided to take Trelawney's words with a pinch of salt and find a more reliable source instead.

* * *

Arithmancy was more satisfying ( Professor Vector had even mentioned that they would be able to craft their own spells in a year), and Ancient Runes, was just more or less of a new language for Hermione although where else it could be used other than ancient rituals and magic was still a mystery.. Care of Magical Creatures, as Ron and Millicent informed her, was very _interesting_ but had the slight drawback of being taught by the Gamekeeper, who was notorious for raising an illegal dragon. And being sent to Azkaban.

Apparently his most recent hobby was trying to breed his own creatures.

Her detention was scheduled with Snape, knowing him, probably something along the line of scrubbing Goyle's last concoction from cauldrons for the weekend.

Hermione sat beside Ron for breakfast on Friday, having arrived a few minutes late, who was saying something to Millicent, pointing at the Daily Prophet. At the Gryffindor table, Potter seemed to be looking really nervous, he was playing with the food on his plate, and Longbottom was saying something. The Ravenclaws too, were in deep discussion – except Luna, who seemed to be humming to herself, as she pored through the Quibbler.

'Wasn't your mother a Black, Draco?' asked Daphne. Malfoy made a face.

'He was disowned.'

'I heard from my mother, that it's not just him, but your aunt as well?'

'His aunt's in Azkaban.' came Daphne's voice.

'Ron, what's the deal?' she asked, helping herself to some bacon.

'Oh, Hermione's here. Blimey, when did you come? I and Bulstrode have been meaning to tell you this, there's been a breakout from Azkaban- Sirius Black's escaped somehow! One of You Know Who's highest ranked Death Eaters- killed thirteen people with one curse!'

* * *

Hermione made her way to Professor Snape's office on Saturday for her detention, narrowly avoiding the mad knight, who had been yelling his horrible poetry ('Tis my bravery and courage unspoken...) at a passing fifth year, by racing through the other portraits.

She skipped over the last step, as she heard a female voice speak.

'- _How_ , Sev, how could he have escaped? And that too now, after all these years? And as if that wasn't enough of a shock, Dumbledore says he's after my damn son-'

'Harry?' came Professor Snape's voice. 'Why would he be after Harry? If he is with You Know Who, certainly it should be the Girl Who Lived he must target, not your son. Black was your husband's brother in all but blood. And besides, he was with You Know Who, in his inner circle. Bellatrix Lestrange is his cousin. I would think he'd know more than anyone what actually happened that Halloween, that it was Granger really.'

'I don't know, just that well, you knew him, he hated his family- he fucking ran away from them to James' place. He never wanted to be a Death Eater; even after Dumbledore convinced him to do it, he did know it was needed for the War, but by God- he _hated_ it all. Precisely why we could never believe it; twelve muggles, poor Peter, James absolutely couldn't go meet his mum, she was devastated…'

There was a slight pause, the clink of glass.

'Maybe he finally did snap? He was never completely sane, even you know that, Lily. I'm not one to judge, but he was a Black. Both sides. Your sentimental twit of a husband might have viewed that episode as a prank, but I'd believe you know he did it on purpose-'

'He was sixteen, we were all prats at that age.'

'Not all of us went around plotting murders-'

'Severus, you know him, he was reckless, _impulsive_. He isn't the type of bloke who plans things. You don't like him or my husband, I know. But I'd have thought you would be a little fair, unlike James; besides he's been drinking all night.'

'Lupin?' asked Snape quietly.

'He takes it hard, and this was almost right after all those horrible laws- I really hate that Umbridge woman. He's silent, but well, we know, it's been hard on us all, especially Harry. Besides,' she added. 'Dumbledore's been trying to get Remus for the Defense position; he's been trying to repel those amendments and stuff.'

Snape snorted. 'The staff is competent enough. As if we need Lupin to protect Harry.'

'I really don't know, Sev, it's been confusing, to say the least. I mean, we went to school with him, he was best man at our wedding. He was so fond of Harry, we named him godfather on James' side and yet, how he could betray us, god knows. James thinks he's escaped now because Harry's image got featured in the Sports edition, they'd attended some Quidditch game- but I don't buy it much. All evidence should show it as Hermione, she's the Girl Who Lived, but Dumbledore believes _he_ is out for Harry.'

'Do not worry,' he said, and there was the clink of glass again. 'The dementors are on his trail, there's talks of them extending it to school.'

'I highly doubt that's going to be enough. They say you go insane in a year; it's been twelve. If the dementors didn't affect him then, it won't be a big deal now.'

Another pause, a deep breath, there was the rustle of pages, a loud noise as something seemed to have dropped.

'My bad, it's fine Lily, _reparo_!'

'I'm sorry, Sev, I didn't realise-' started the woman, in a panicked voice, but suddenly stopped. Snape's voice was controlled.

'It's nothing. I'd prefer not to talk about it.'

There was silence. The woman sighed, and it echoed in the stone dungeon. Her voice was soft, soothing- Hermione idly thought she would have made a good singer.

'Does it bother you still?'

'I've told you I don't want to talk about it.' His tone was cold.

Another awkward silence, it made Hermione wonder if she should leave or barge in. Snape was usually a punctual person, maybe she'd come a bit early, or maybe he'd just forgotten in the Sirius Black fiasco. To be honest, eavesdropping ethics was something she'd lost the day she'd become friends with Luke. It was fine, Hermione decided after a few seconds. Even Ron knew silencing charms, if Snape was really being careful, he'd have atleast put up an Imperturbable Charm.

'Well,' started the woman, as there was the scrape of a chair being withdrawn.

'I think I'll leave you alone, Sev. I just thought it might help to meet an old friend-'

'I know what you came for. You came here to ask for your son's protection.' His voice was again, very controlled, almost impassive.

'Think before you speak. I came here to see a _friend_ , not to make Unbreakable Vows. There's Dumbledore for Harry's safety. I'd have thought that after all these years, you and James would've left behind this childish rivalry-'

'I have.' He said coolly. 'Your husband, on the other hand, has not.'

'And that shows how much you both have matured. _Your husband_ , honestly, it's not like James is a hard name to pronounce. Where's the Floo powder?'

'Severus, where's the Floo powder?' she repeated.

'For Merlin's sake, sorry.'

'Oh well, me too, I guess.' she said sheepishly. 'I have been going a bit off road since the news, I couldn't sleep last night, especially with James and Remus like that…'

'Then go home and take a nap, maybe some Dreamless sleep. Your husband and his friends have always been emotional twits, they'll be fine, don't worry. Your son is safe at Hogwarts.'

'I know.'

'Lily, you have my word; I will keep your son safe.'

'I don't need your word, I trust you Sev.'

There was another short pause and Snape said.

'Nice to know.'

'Prat,' laughed the woman. 'You're so insufferable sometimes.'

He muttered something like so is your husband.

Hermione knocked on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So genuine question- was this chapter too slow or bland? I mean, it's kinda eating at me...


End file.
